


Wish Fulfillment

by aslytherspuff



Series: The Wish Fulfillment Universe [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Childhood Friends, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Romantic Soulmates, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-24 18:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 57,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22002562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aslytherspuff/pseuds/aslytherspuff
Summary: A canon retelling of the original series from Ron's POV, but with a twist - every witch or wizard has a soulmark that reflects their soulmate's deepest desire. Ron gets his at just five years old, but the words aren't what anyone expects.Not (completely) Epilogue or Cursed Child compliant. Endgame pairings not all canon-compliant.Rated M to be safe. Some profanity and adult references in later chapters.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley, Ginny Weasley/Blaise Zabini, Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Theodore Nott
Series: The Wish Fulfillment Universe [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587355
Comments: 166
Kudos: 891





	1. Ronald Weasley and The Boy Who Lived

**Author's Note:**

> For any scenes which contain direct quotes from the original series, I have included (p.#, NAME OF BOOK) ahead of the scene. The page numbers are that of my personal copies, so this may vary.  
> This is canon-compliant, but contains scenes entirely of my own imagination to fill in the blanks of Ron's POV.

Everyone in the wizarding world had a soulmark. They appeared in neat, block letters the first time your soulmate truly _wanted_ something. Most soulmarks appeared during puberty, and could be generic, like “love” or “friendship”, or specific, like a person's name.

Bill's mark had appeared late, the word “l'égard” etching itself above his heart just after his nineteenth birthday. Charlie's had appeared during his third year at Hogwarts. The word “broom” had been written on his ribs for two days before changing to “wand”; during the summer after his final year at Hogwarts, it finally changed again, though he would never say what it had changed to. Percy probably had his, but felt it was 'improper' to discuss 'such private matters'. Fred and George didn't have theirs, yet, but Ron did.

Ron's had appeared when he was just five years old, and the first word had left his mother in tears. He had tried to hide it since then, but the clear, black letters were unmistakeable against the pale, white skin of his arm. At first, he hadn't truly understood, but as he grew older, the desperate wishes of his soulmate invaded his every thought. As he dug into a hearty roast dinner, he could hardly take his eyes off the neatly-printed “food” on his freckled skin. When his mum hugged him and kissed him goodnight, he remembered all the times he'd seen “parents” written there. Family. Safety. Love. Friends. All things Ron took for granted, appearing on his arm in an endless cycle. He wondered if his soulmate had her mark yet and, if they did, if it brought them comfort. He hoped it did.

**FIRST YEAR**

** JULY 1991 **

On the day that Ron received his Hogwarts letter, the cycle broke for the first time. “Letter” was neatly printed on his skin as if it were somehow reflecting Ron's own thoughts. But Ron's excitement over his own letter came and went, and his Mark remained stubbornly stuck. Had his soulmate not gotten their Hogwarts letter? His mum tried to reassure him that it was quite possible that it was a different letter altogether; perhaps his soulmate wasn't yet old enough to attend Hogwarts. But Ron knew. Somehow, he could feel in his gut that his Mark referred to his soulmate's Hogwarts letter. His soulmate would be in his school year, and Ron was determined to find her.

When Ron woke up on the first of August, the first thing he did was look at his arm. Terror rushed through him like a tidal wave. It was blank. He leaped out of bed, slamming into Charlie as he raced out of his room.

“My arm is blank!”

Charlie blanched, his hand going instantaneously to his ribs, where his own soulmark rested. Bill's head appeared in their bedroom doorway.

“What did you say, Ron?”

Ron thrust his left arm towards his eldest brother. “It's  _gone_ !”

Bill paled.

Ron's heart began to hammer painfully in his chest. “It's bad, isn't it?” he whispered, feeling hot tears burning his eyes. “It's really bad.”

Bill's mouth hardened into a thin line. “Let's go see mum,” he said, quietly, scooping Ron up onto his hip like a child. For once, Ron didn't mind. He hid his face in his brother's neck and sobbed.

Mum took one look at Ron's unblemished skin and fainted. The word “provide” etched on her forearm seemed bigger somehow, more prominent, now that Ron's own mark was missing.

As Bill and Charlie brought her round, Ron's arm itched uncomfortably. He refused to look, to see the empty expanse of skin where the words used to be.

“What's all the noise?” Percy's prattish voice said. “I've got OWLs this year, you know.”

“Shut up, Perce. The school year hasn't even started yet,” Bill snapped. “There are bigger things to worry about.”

Rage boiled in Ron's blood. “Yeah, Perce,  _look_ !” he yelled, shoving his arm in front of Percy's face as he walked pompously past them into the kitchen.

Percy raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Ron screamed. “It's  _gone_ , you idiot!”

Percy rolled his eyes. “Don't be so dramatic, Ronald. It's not  _gone_ . It's changed. They do do that, you know.”

Everybody spun towards him as Ron slowly lowered his arm to look at his own skin.

Sure enough, there in neat capital letters, it said “stay”.

*~*~*~*

Ron didn't meet his soulmate on the train to school, though a surreptitious check under his too-long sleeves revealed his Mark had changed from “Hogwarts” to “friend”.

He did get to meet  _Harry Potter_ , though! He was the nicest rich person Ron had ever met. He shared his sweets with Ron, and even seemed to think Scabbers was cool. And he stood up to that Malfoy prat!

_Dear Mum,_

_I sorted Gryffindor!_

_Do you remember that boy we helped on the platform? He's HARRY POTTER!_

_He sorted Gryffindor, too – he's in the dorm, in the bed right next to mine. And he's been dead nice to me. I reckon we'll be friends._

_Love, Ron_

_Dear Mum,_

_I am sorry about the troll. I didn't mean to. Honest. Only, Harry said we couldn't leave this girl alone in the toilets, and I really wanted him to think I was brave like him, so I said I'd go. We did save her, Mum! Well, Harry saved her, but then I saved Harry! The girl – Hermione – she's a bit annoying. Real know-it-all like Percy. But Harry likes her, and she's been nice to me since we saved her life, even if she does nag me to do my homework._

_Love, Ron_

_Dear Mum,_

_Harry's staying for Christmas. I don't think his family like him very much cause they're going on holiday without him. And he says they NEVER give him any presents! Do you think you could knit an extra jumper, for Harry?_

_And would it be okay if I stayed here with him? I don't want him to be here all alone at Christmas._

_Love, Ron_

By Christmas, Ron had almost forgotten about his mission to find his soulmate at Hogwarts. Some of his year-mates were pretty cool, he supposed, but he only really liked Harry. And Hermione, sometimes, even if she could be a bit annoying. But neither of them could be his soulmates; Hermione had her parents, and even though Harry didn't – and Ron had sometimes, secretly, at night wished it _could_ be Harry – everyone loved Harry and he had loads of friends, so it couldn't be him either.

After Christmas, things went from bad to worse, and by the time they were finally on the train home in the summer, Ron found himself agreeing with Hermione. Who on earth hides a one-of-a-kind immortality stone guarded by a three-headed dog in a _school_? Harry could have _died_! The days Harry had spent in the hospital wing had been the first time in Ron's life that he had known hunger; he refused to leave, and even when Madame Pomfrey brought him food, he was too worried to eat it. Harry was his best mate! He couldn't just _die_!

Harry was healed, eventually, and Gryffindor won the house cup, but nothing could ease the sick feeling on Ron's stomach at the thought of leaving Harry for a whole summer.


	2. Ronald Weasley and the Flying Anglia

**SECOND YEAR**

**JUNE 1992**

_Dear Harry,_

_Sorry you had to go back to those muggles. I saw them at the station – they looked awful! Mum says you can visit us later in the summer, if they let you? We could even throw you a birthday party. Mum makes the best cake! I'm sorry about the owl. Errol's really old but he does the job._

_Charlie's in Romania right now, but he said maybe I can visit him at the sanctuary for a week and see the dragons! If Mum lets me go, I'll tell you all about it!_

_See you soon, mate._

_Ron_

_Dear Harry,_

_I wrote to you last week, but bloody Errol probably got lost and never delivered your letter. Sorry about that. Anyway, Mum says you can come here for your birthday if you want? She'll make you a cake and everything! I'm gutted she won't let me go stay with Charlie in Romania, though. I'd love to meet a real dragon – other than Norbert, I mean. It's dead boring around here without you – Mum's got me degnoming the garden most days._

_Write soon._

_Ron_

_Dear Harry,_

_Are you alright, mate? Bill let me borrow his owl to deliver the last one, so I know it didn't get lost. Mum's going to attach some of her cooking to this one, I think, just in case the muggles don't have food as nice as hers. Mum's cooking is better than Hogwarts, so I bet they don't. Are you coming for your birthday?_

_Can't wait to see you._

_Ron_

_Harry_

_Happy Birthday!_

_Mum's made some cake so I'm sending it with this letter._

_Please write back._

_Ron_

_Harry_

_I'm worried._

_If you don't write back, we're coming to get you._

_Ron_

_(p.24, Chamber of Secrets)_

As Fred flew the car closer to Harry's house, Ron's stomach started to rebel.

“If you're gonna be sick, Ron,” George said.

“Open a window,” Fred finished. “You'll never make the Gryffindor team if you can't hack flying.”

But it wasn't the flying that was making Ron's dinner attempt a reappearance.

He could see Harry's house. There were bars on his window.

Fred pulled the car up next to Harry's window, and Ron leaned out to shake the bars. “Harry,” he said, as loudly as he dared. “Harry, wake up! It's Ron!”

Eventually, Harry's sleep-creased face appeared between the bars, glasses sitting lop-sided on his face. The uncomfortable tension that had taken up residence in Ron's chest when Harry had been dragged out of King's Cross by those awful muggles started to ease. He was safe. Thank Merlin, he was safe.

“What's been going on?” Ron asked. “Why haven't you been answering my letters? I've asked you to stay about twelve times, and then Dad came home and said you'd got an official warning for using magic in front of muggles...”

Harry looked horrified. “It wasn't me!” he protested, his face pressed against the bars and one hand reaching out to grab Ron's. “And how did he know?”

“He works for the Ministry. And you _know_ we're not supposed to use magic outside of school –” Ron flinched; he sounded like Hermione, scolding Harry like that. It's just that he was _so worried_ , and now that he knew Harry was okay, he felt a bit annoyed that Harry made him worry so much.

Harry's face twisted. “Bit rich coming from you,” he snapped, staring at the Anglia.

“Oh, this doesn't count,” Ron assured him. “We're only borrowing this, it's Dad's; we didn't enchant it. But doing magic in front of the muggles you live with!” Ron could hear Hermione's scolding tone creeping into his voice again, and he stopped. He didn't want to make Harry feel worse.

Clearly, he had, because Harry glared at him, betrayed. “I told you, I didn't.” He stepped back from the bars, dropping Ron's hand. “Look, can you explain to them at Hogwarts that the Dursley's have locked me up and won't let me come back.”

Ron felt a weight settle in his stomach. _Won't let him come back?_ Ron couldn't imagine Hogwarts without Harry. George noticed him starting to go a bit green again and stepped in.

“Stop gibbering, Potter. We've come to take you home with us!”

Harry looked confused. “But you can't magic me out, either.”

Fred grinned. “We don't need to!”

“Yeah,” said George, “you've got us!”

Once they were finally away from the Dursleys, Fred and George started quizzing Harry about his summer. Why hadn't he written? Who, exactly, had done magic, if it wasn't Harry? Why were there bars on the window?

Ron had expected to feel elated at having his best mate back, but he didn't. Harry sat pressed up against the window, as far away from Ron as possible. He spoke when spoken to and never made eye contact. Ron didn't feel elated at all. He felt sick.

When they got home and Mum started yelling, Harry grabbed Ron's hand. Ron gripped it back hard and glared at his mother. If she noticed, she didn't say anything, but she did make an effort to be nicer to Harry, even if she did stay angry at him and his brothers.

He never noticed that his arm said “home”.

*~*~*~*

_Dear Mum,_

_I am sorry about Dad's car. And about the trouble he's in at work. I didn't mean to. Only, we couldn't get on to the platform, and I couldn't let Harry go back to those muggles! We had to get to Hogwarts somehow! I just panicked a bit, I think._

_Harry's sorry, too. He really liked staying at the Burrow and he's worried he won't be invited back, now. He will be, though, right? I want him to come every summer; he's loads better off with us than with his so-called family._

_Love, Ron_

_Dear Mum,_

_Everything's fine at school. Percy's exaggerating to try and make himself feel important. Someone just got sick of Mrs Norris and tried to bump her off, I expect. No, Harry was_ _**NOT** _ _involved, no matter what Ginny might have heard._

_Love, Ron_

_Dear Mum,_

_Harry's fine. It was just a Quidditch accident, but then Lockhart went and vanished his bones! He's okay now, Madame Pomfrey gave him some Skelegro and his arm went back to normal. Thanks for the cake, though. It cheered Harry right up!_

_Love, Ron_

_Dear Mum,_

_I'm not coming home. I'm not leaving Harry here on his own, and whoever's Mark I've got on my wrist is here, too, I just know it. I need to stay. I'm safe anyway. I'm sure Malfoy's involved, but he said it's only muggle-borns in danger, and McGonagall confirmed it. Someone at the school is the “Heir of Slytherin” and they think only purebloods should do magic or some tosh like that. Hermione's still in the hospital wing, and Harry might be in danger – his mum was muggle-born._

_Besides, Percy's here to babysit us._

_Love, Ron_

*~*~*~*

_(p.224, Chamber of Secrets)_

When Lockhart raised Ron's wand to Obliviate them, the last, nonsensical thought in Ron's mind was “no, I can't forget Harry”. Then the world around him exploded.

“Ron!” Harry's voice sounded muffled. “Ron, are you okay?”

Ron lifted his throbbing head. “I'm here.”

A bemused-looking Lockhart lay a few feet in front of him, staring blithely at the piles of rubble and rock around them.

“I'm okay. This git's not though – he got blasted by the wand!” Ron jabbed the professor hard in the ribs, but Lockhart didn't even look at him, so Ron reached over and gave him a dead leg. The man uttered a sharp “ow!” but, otherwise, remained catatonic.

As the dust settled around them, the reality of the situation hit Ron harder than the blast had. Harry was stuck on the other side!

“What now?” he whimpered, hoping Harry couldn't hear the fear in his voice. “We can't get through! It'll take ages!”

Ron saw Lockhart reach for his broken wand, and he staggered to his feet to kick it away from him.

“Wait there,” Harry's voice came back. “Wait with Lockhart, and if I'm not back in an hour...”

Bile rose in Ron's throat, and he was glad Harry hadn't actually finished that sentence. “I'll try and shift some of this rock,” he said, trying to sound brave, “so you can – can get back through. And, Harry – ”

“See you in a bit,” Harry said, determinedly, cutting off what Ron had been about to say. Ron was oddly grateful for that, because even in a life or death situation like this, who says “I love you” to their best mate? He must've hit his head harder than he thought.

The hour Ron spent waiting for Harry to return from the Chamber was the longest hour of his life. He was glad Lockhart stayed put, because between spates of pulling away chunks of rock, Ron retreated into the corner to vomit. He'd lost his breakfast half an hour ago; now, he was just dry-heaving.

_Where was Harry?_

_“Ron!”_

He really had hit his head. First, wild declarations of love. Then the nausea. Now, he was hearing things.

“Ron! Ginny's okay! I've got her.”

Oh dear Godric. That was Harry. He was alive!

Ron ran back to the blocked passageway and shoved his hand through the hole he'd made. “Ginny!” he shouted. He needed to pull her through first. “You're alive! I don't believe it! What happened?” Both of them were alive. Safe. Back. Now all he had to do was get them out of the Chamber.

The two-hundred house points were a definite bonus, but knowing Harry – and his sister – were safe was what had Ron walking on clouds for the rest of the school year. Well, that, and knowing Lockhart was gone. Ron hoped they'd have a cool DADA teacher next year – a vampire, maybe, or an Auror. Plus, now that he knew Percy had a _girlfriend_ , he could tease him all summer, the poncy git!


	3. Ronald Weasley and the 12-Year-Old Rat

**THIRD YEAR**

**JULY 1993**

Ron stared blankly at his father.

Around him, his family burst into cheers (Fred, George, and Ginny) or tears (his mum). Percy, prat that he was, stood up and shook Dad's hand and said “Congratulations” like he was some kind of visiting foreign dignitary.

“What do you mean?” Ron said, once the noise had died down.

Dad turned to smile at him. “We're all going to Egypt! On a holiday! The whole family!”

Ron grinned back, “Wicked!” And it was. He hadn't seen Bill or Charlie in ages, and he'd never been on a holiday before. Egypt was supposed to be full of all kinds of cool things like mummies and ghouls and magical creatures and he couldn't wait to see all of them.

But Harry was stuck with the muggles. In England. Which was an awful long way from Egypt. And he hadn't written to Ron even once this summer.

The first night home from school, the nightmares had started. Harry not coming back to Hogwarts, locked up forever by his muggle family. Ron going to rescue him, but the bars wouldn't come off the window. Harry staying there, in that tiny room, trapped forever. Every night, Ron would wake up abruptly, with the image of bright, tear-filled, green eyes burned into his brain.

His family thought the nightmares were because of the Chamber, and he hadn't bothered to correct them.

The night after his dad's announcement, Ron couldn't sleep at all. Instead, he stayed up all night, staring at the word that had been stamped onto his pale, freckled skin since the day he got home – “Hogwarts”. Whoever his soulmate was, she wasn't having a happy summer, it seemed. From the words he'd seen cross his skin over the past few years, he thought his soulmate and Harry would get along well – the most frequent words during school were “Quidditch”, “flying”, and “friends”. When he eventually found whoever it was, Ron hoped his two best friends would like her.

As the sky outside his window turned from grey to pink, Ron grabbed a quill to send a hasty letter to Hermione, letting her know that he was going to Egypt for a few weeks. At least she would still be in England if Harry needed something. Then he dug a crumpled slip of parchment out of his school trunk. Harry's felly-tone number. He didn't want to get Harry in trouble by sending an owl, but maybe he could talk to him this way. At least he could let Harry know that he was going on holiday.

Over breakfast, he explained the plan to Fred and George, who immediately kidnapped him and dragged him into Ottery St Catchpole.

“Here you are, Ron,” Fred said.

“A felly-tone box.”

“Just press those numbers in the right order.”

“And _bam!_ Instant Harry Potter communication device,” finished George, grinning.

Dad had heard their plan and slipped Ron some muggle money when Mum wasn't looking, so he shoved the tiny, odd-shaped coins into the hole in the felly-tone and pressed the numbers in the same order Harry had written them on the parchment.

Ron pressed the strange, black device to his ear as it made odd noises. Was it some kind of code?

_(p.3, Prisoner of Azkaban)_

“Vernon Dursley speaking.”

Oh, no. Ron did not want to talk to that horrible muggle.

“Hello! Hello? Can you hear me? I want to talk to Harry Potter!” Ron said, as loudly and clearly as he could. Harry hadn't warned him that the muggles might also use this felly-tone!

“WHO IS THIS?” the walrus-man roared through the device, and Ron almost dropped it in shock. “WHO ARE YOU?”

“RON WEASLEY,” he shouted back. Goodness! Were muggles always this loud? Their ears must start to hurt if they always had to shout like this to hear each other. “I'M A FRIEND OF HARRY'S FROM SCHOOL!”

In hindsight, that was probably the wrong thing to say, since the Dursley's hated Hogwarts and everyone who went there.

“THERE IS NO HARRY POTTER HERE!” the muggle yelled back, the filthy liar. “I DON'T KNOW WHAT SCHOOL YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT! NEVER CONTACT ME AGAIN! DON'T YOU COME NEAR MY FAMILY!”

Abruptly, there was a sort of slamming noise, then an odd, constant beep.

Fred and George were in hysterics on the floor, but Ron didn't feel like laughing. Not only had he not managed to tell Harry that he was going away, he'd probably gotten Harry in trouble with his aunt and uncle. Fred and George re-enacted the entire conversation with escalating exaggeration all the way home. Ron stared at his own, scuffed shoes and tried not to cry.

Egypt was absolutely brilliant, and Ron was even able to get a bit of money to buy Harry a real birthday present, which he sent off with Errol the minute they got back to the Burrow. Then, he got to spend a couple of days in Diagon with Harry before school started; Harry looked loads healthier and happier than he usually did after the summer holidays, and the worry that had settled over him like a dead weight at the start of summer had lifted off his shoulders the minute he set eyes on him in Fortescue's. But that hadn't stopped him from buying Harry the biggest ice cream they sold, just because he could.

Unfortunately, as always seemed to be the case around Harry, these things couldn't last. His dad pulled Harry aside at the train station, looking more drawn and serious than Ron had ever seen him. When Harry joined them in the carriage, he told them, calm as you like, that the _only person ever to escape Azkaban_ had done so just to come after Harry. And then the dementors arrived.

_Dear Dad,_

_The Ministry's sent loads of dementors to Hogwarts 'cause of Sirius Black. One came into our carriage on the train and Harry sort of passed out. What do they think – that Harry's concealing a mass murderer in his school trunk?! He even had to have Madame Pomfrey look him over when we got to school. Is there anything you can do? Anything you can say to the Minister?_

_Ron_

_Dear Mum,_

_Hogwarts is great this year! Our DADA teacher Professor Lupin, is brilliant! Miles better than Lockhart. He even let us tackle a boggart and I got five points for Gryffindor! And they've let Hagrid teach Care of Magical Creatures, so we're learning about things way cooler than stupid flobberworms – like hippogriffs! Harry even got to ride it!_

_Scabbers isn't doing to well, though, so could you send me some more rat tonic?_

_Harry's not allowed to come to Hogsmeade this year because those awful muggles wouldn't sign his permission slip. Could you do it? Please? Harry's never been to a magical village before, and it won't be the same going without him. He did ask McGonagall, but she said she can't since she's his teacher._

_Love, Ron_

*~*~*~*

The weather was awful for Quidditch, but Ron gave Harry a hug for good luck and headed up to the stands with Hermione, anyway. Gryffindor were only playing Hufflepuff, after all, so it was sure to be a quick match.

Ron did his best to follow Harry's movements through the wind and driving rain, but it took all of his concentration. He vaguely heard the stands around him filling with cheers or boos as the teams either scored or had their shots blocked by a keeper, but he paid them no mind. Thankfully, Hermione seemed to be similarly fixated on Harry, and they huddled together against the rain, hands clasped firmly together. They both flinched every time a bludger got too close, and tensed when Harry was thrown off-balance by the gale-force winds whipping around him.

“I do hope he catches it soon,” Hermione whispered into his ear, and Ron pulled her closer, taking comfort in the girl who he could now say was one of his best friends. Her soaking wet curls smacked sharply against his cheeks, but he didn't mind.

“I'm sure he – ” Ron's reassurance was cut short by a sight that made his heart first fly into his throat, pounding madly, then drop horribly into his stomach. Time seemed to stand still, then speed up all at once, and all he could see was Harry's crumpled, broken form lying motionless in the middle of the pitch. Someone screamed, but he couldn't be sure if it was he or Hermione.

After what felt like decades, Dumbledore strode out onto the pitch, and he and Hermione sprang into action, shoving their way through the stands and down onto the pitch.

The Headmaster's face was grim as he conjured a stretcher and levitated Harry onto it, guiding his floating form towards the school. Hermione and Ron hurried along in his wake, eyes fixed on their best friend's tiny, unmoving form.

_(p.179, Prisoner of Azkaban)_

The hospital wing filled with soaking wet Quidditch players as soon as the match ended. Hermione and Ron huddled together in the corner. Madame Pomfrey had assured them that Harry would make a full recovery, but neither would really believe it until the messy-haired boy woke up and told them himself.

“Lucky the ground was so soft,” one of the chasers murmured.

“I thought he was dead for sure,” Fred chimed in, earning glares from everyone besides George.

“But he didn't even break his glasses,” said George, brightly.

Ron didn't have the energy to point out that he had, in fact, broken both his glasses and at least seven bones. It was just that Madame Pomfrey had fixed them.

“That was the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life,” he whispered, eventually, and the mood around Harry's bed sobered up immediately.

Suddenly, Harry's eyes opened, flickering in confusion over the faces crowded around him. When green eyes finally met Ron's blue ones, he felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate slightly. Harry was awake. He would be okay.

The whole Quidditch team descended, asking and answering questions about the match. Gryffindor had lost, of course, but for the first time ever, Ron couldn't bring himself to care. Harry seemed distraught over the idea of losing a match, and heartbroken over the loss of his beloved Nimbus, but Ron was just glad to have his best mate still alive.

*~*~*~*

_Mum and Dad,_

_Sorry about the last minute change of plans. We just learned something terrible about Sirius Black, and Harry is too upset to be left here alone over Christmas. I wish I could tell you, but I'm not sure Harry would want me telling people. I've given your presents to Ginny. I hope you like them._

_Merry Christmas!_

_Love, Ron_

Ron had more than just Harry to worry about over Christmas. His Mark, which – despite being somewhat depressing at times – had always remained fairly harmless, had changed to say “revenge” a few days before the break. Scabbers was getting thinner by the day. Hermione was more worried about Hagrid's hippogriff and Harry's new broom than the problems her awful orange demon was causing for Ron's rat. And his mum had sent back a fairly terse reply along with three Christmas presents; it was obvious she was unhappy with his decision to stay at school over the holidays, but Ron knew in his gut that he'd done the right thing.

*~*~*~*

The Gryffindor match against Slytherin was awful, in Ron's opinion. Hermione still wasn't talking to them after her cat had murdered Scabbers, so Ron had to sit between Seamus and Neville. Neither of them would hold his hand, and he didn't want them to. Instead, he knotted his hands together, fingernails digging into his skin even through the gloves he wore. The Hufflepuff match had been tense enough, but the Slytherins were dirty cheats. Ron lost count of the number of times bludgers were aimed at Harry, and Seamus was giving him odd looks when he forgot to cheer at the right times. The sight of Malfoy grabbing onto Harry's broom was enough to make all kinds of nasty curses and hexes spring to mind; did he have any idea how _dangerous_ that was?! Not to mention illegal! And then Harry, hero that he was, nearly dove straight into the stands while trying to help the chasers score. Ron had never missed Hermione more than he did right now; at least she had understood. But then Harry caught the snitch, and Ron was screaming his name. As the entirety of Gryffindor House descended onto the pitch, Ron caught sight of Harry – carried on Fred and George's shoulders, snitch held high in the air, and a breathtaking grin splitting his face. Last week, Harry had been trying to explain the kind of happy memory needed to produce a Patronus to Ron; in this moment, looking at Harry, Ron suddenly felt he understood. If he ever needed a Patronus, this memory would be perfect.

*~*~*~*

_(p.331, Prisoner of Azkaban)_

Ron thought watching Buckbeak be executed was a terrible idea, but Harry and Hermione had insisted it was their 'duty as friends' to visit Hagrid. This was how, on a mild, summer evening, he found himself – reunited with Scabbers, who wasn't dead – squashed under Harry's cloak and sneaking hurriedly back up the hill towards the school. The _Minister of Magic_ was there, for Godric's sake! If they got caught, they'd all be expelled.

Suddenly, his not-dead rat started flailing madly in his pocket.

“Oh, please, Ron,” Hermione began to whine, clearly regretting her decision to visit Hagrid now that they might get in trouble.

“It's Scabbers,” he snapped. “He won't stay put!” Personally, Ron didn't blame him. He was probably still terrified of the ginger beast he'd disappeared to avoid. Ron pulled Scabbers out of his pocket, but Scabbers continued to squeak and flail madly in his hands. At one point, Ron was sure the old rat had tried to bite him!

“Scabbers,” Ron hissed, “it's me, you idiot. It's Ron.”

The sound of a door opening and men's voices silenced all three of them.

“Oh, Ron. Please, let's move! They're going to do it,” Hermione whispered, her lips pressed against his ear.

Ron nodded, and together they crept forwards up the hill.

Scabbers continued to squeal and wriggle, but Ron hardly noticed. Hermione was tense at his side, one hand gripping his wrist hard enough to cut off his circulation. Abruptly, there came the unmistakeable sound of an axe swishing through the air, followed by a sickening thud. Ron felt Hermione sway slightly.

“They did it,” she whispered, horrified. “I d-don't believe it – they did it.”

Harry, the bloody idiot, tried to rush back down the hill towards Hagrid, but Ron and Hermione moved as one to stop him.

They eventually began to move again, towards the school; the mood between them was sombre, and Hermione was still shaking. Ron wrapped a comforting arm around her as he used his other hand to shove Scabbers back into his pocket.

“What's the matter with you, you stupid rat? Stay still! OUCH!” Ron squeaked loudly. “He _bit_ me!”

Everything seemed to happen all at once. Hermione was trying to shush Ron when, out of nowhere, a streak of orange lunged towards them. Scabbers sank his teeth into Ron's hand, finally breaking free and pelting away across the grass, but Crookshanks was faster. Ron threw off the cloak and sprinted after his rat.

_Bloody evil cat!_ Ron thought, as he raced and stumbled across the ground after Scabbers. _I swear, if Hermione tries to bring that thing back into the castle, I'll kill it!_

Ron snatched the rat up and turned back to Harry and Hermione in time to see a massive, shaggy, black dog headed straight towards him, jaws open and sharp teeth glinting in the fading daylight. He didn't even have time to scream before those jaws closed around his arm and red-hot pain flooded his body. Blindly, he dug his feet into the roots of a tree, fighting to get away; with a loud _crack_ , he felt his leg give way. White spots floated in his vision, and he felt his body go limp as the beast dragged him roughly over the uneven ground.

Suddenly, the pulling and movement stopped. Mind swimming with pain, Ron forced his eyes open. Dusty floorboards. Peeling wallpaper. Chairs torn to shreds. An ominous creaking noise that seemed to come from the building itself, as if it were mere minutes from collapsing around his ears. Harry and Hermione weren't here, he realised dully. Perhaps they were safe. They were probably going to the school now to tell a teacher what had happened, then he'd be rescued and Madame Pomfrey would fix him up, good as new. Ron looked down and realised with an uncomfortable lurch in his stomach that it was his _left_ arm the dog had bitten; his Mark had been bisected by two, large, ragged puncture wounds, rendering it unreadable. If Madame Pomfrey could fix nothing else, he hoped she could fix that.

Ron looked back up, trying to work out where he was, and froze when he saw a pair of bare, dirty feet just in front of him. He followed the feet up. Dingy, filthy, black and white trousers met a dank, shredded, striped top that barely covered a pale, thin torso covered in scars and tattoos. Ron picked out his Mark from the other tattoos instantaneously; clear, black letters across the man's collarbone: “SIRIUS”. A wave of dread crashed over Ron as he slowly looked up into sunken, crazed, grey eyes. The dog wasn't a dog at all. It was Sirius Black.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ron saw movement. Then the cloak was thrown aside and Harry and Hermione were rushing towards him.

“Ron, are you okay?”

“Where's the dog?”

“Not a dog,” Ron said, faintly, feeling sick. Why hadn't Harry and Hermione just gone back to school and fetched a teacher? Clearly, he had just been used as bait – Hermione should have been smart enough to realise that! “Harry, it's a trap – ”

“What?”

“He's the dog,” Ron grit out between clenched teeth, “he's an Animagus.”

Ron felt his vision start to go fuzzy and black at the edges as he heard spells shouted and threats made. Sirius was threatening Harry. Adrenaline coursed through him and his vision cleared; gripping the frame of the large bed beside him, Ron hauled himself to his feet and met the murderer's eyes.

“If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us, too!”

Ron could've sworn he saw Black's eyes flick down to his mangled forearm, and his harsh face seemed to almost... soften? Clearly, the pain was sending him round the twist.

“Lie down,” Black said, quietly, as if oblivious to Ron's anger. “You will damage that leg even more.”

“Did you hear me?” Ron hissed, clinging to Harry to stay upright through the pain, “you'll have to kill all three of us.” There was no way he would just lay back like Black asked and let him harm Harry. His words weren't empty threats; he truly would rather die than let Harry be harmed.

Harry threw himself bodily at Black, screaming about his parents, and Ron joined the fray, desperately trying to snatch his wand back from Black's skeletal hand. Eventually, he succeeded, and the pain overtook him as Hermione forced him back onto the bed.

“Stay there,” she hissed, “or I'll tie you to it.”

If he hadn't been in so much pain, he was sure he would've blushed.

The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur. Ron could remember Crookshanks getting involved, somehow. And Professor Lupin, who was a _werewolf_ , apparently, and friends with Black. Snape turned up, the greasy git. Then Ron's rat turned out to be a man; a fully-grown murderer of a man, if Black and Lupin were to be believed. After that, everything went blurry, then, eventually, there was nothing but darkness.

_Dear Mum,_

_I promise I'm fine, you don't need to come to Hogwarts. I'm already out of the hospital wing – was only in there a couple of days, anyway. Madame Pomfrey patched me up no problem._

_Can Harry come stay with us this summer? I can't send him home with no hope at all. Plus, it's the Quidditch World Cup – the youngest Seeker in a century can't miss that, can he?_

_See you soon,_

_Ron_

The end of term came with one more surprise – an owl of his own, courtesy of Sirius Black. Officially, the note said “P.S. I thought your friend Ron might like to keep this owl, as it's my fault he no longer has a rat”, but as Ron grabbed the parchment from Harry, a short letter shimmered into view.

_Ron,_

_I am sorry about your arm. I hope it has healed well; those Marks are essential to us, aren't they? Use this owl to keep in touch with Harry over the summer. I regret that I will not be able to be around as often as I'd like. Look after him._

_Sirius._


	4. Ronald Weasley and the Triwizard Tournament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a one-shot to accompany this chapter. It's called Hogmanay, and while it's not entirely necessary to read it, there are one or two references to it in later chapters.

**FOURTH YEAR**

**AUGUST 1994**

Ron spent the first part of his summer waiting to find out if his dad had gotten tickets to the World Cup. Then he was waiting to find out if Harry could come. Then he was waiting for Harry to arrive.

All of his brothers had come back to England to see the match, and even _Hermione_ had decided she wanted to come, so the Burrow was packed to bursting by the time Harry arrived through the Floo. Harry looked somewhat skinnier than he had last summer, but still better than he had the summer Ron had had to rescue him from his aunt and uncle in his dad's flying car, so Ron tried to take it as a positive. He was sure his mum noticed how thin Harry was, too, because she cooked far more than usual, and kept trying to fill Harry's plate when he wasn't looking.

The Quidditch World Cup was brilliant, of course, and Ron was transfixed by the look of joy and wonder on Harry's face as they wandered around the campsite. Fleetingly, Ron thought the whole trip had been worth it just for that. Magic was normal to him; sometimes he forgot that, to Harry, it was all still new and exciting. But, Merlin, it was brilliant to be reminded.

As they settled into their bunks for the night, Ron fought to stay awake until he could hear the even, soft breathing of Harry beside him. It was a habit that had started sometime during their first year at Hogwarts, and now he found it hard to sleep without the sounds of Harry sleeping in the next bed. Just as he was drifting off himself, he heard whispering below him.

“Psst, Bill.”

“What Char?” Bill whispered back, voice thick with sleep.

“I know who my Mark is.”

There was silence. Ron even stopped breathing. Why hadn't Charlie told anyone? Finding your soulmate was a massive thing – bigger even than a seventeenth birthday or a wedding! The whole family would want to celebrate this, throw a huge party, meet the person who was Charlie's perfect other half.

“Who is she?” Bill whispered, eventually. He sounded alert, now, but wary. Ron couldn't blame him. If Charlie wasn't telling anyone, it was bad news.

“Not she. He.”

Ron froze.

He'd never even thought of that.

All this time, he'd been wondering about a Quidditch-obsessed witch with a shit home life and no parents. But it could be a _wizard_. The thought hit him like a bludger, and he almost missed Bill's reply.

“Thank Godric for that,” he hissed, “because we all know you're gay.”

Charlie was silent for a moment, before Ron heard both of his brothers begin to chortle quietly, muffling their laughs in their pillows.

“Should've known I wasn't as subtle as I thought,” Charlie muttered.

“Not in the slightest, Char,” Bill replied, softly. “Even mum knows. We've just been waiting for you to bring someone home.”

Charlie sighed. “Sorry, Bill. I won't be bringing anyone home.”

Ron shifted in his bed, trying to hear the conversation more clearly, but his movement must have alerted Charlie and Bill, because the next thing he heard was a muttered privacy charm.

The next morning, Charlie pulled him aside after breakfast. He didn't look like he'd slept a wink. “Look, Ron,” he said, quietly, “please don't tell anyone what you heard last night.”

Ron shook his head. He'd already decided not to mention it. Clearly, something was very, very wrong with his older brother's Mark.

Subconsciously, he reached for his own Mark, and Charlie smiled sadly. “When you work out who it is, owl me, okay?”

Ron nodded mutely.

Charlie pulled him in for a hug. He smelled of bonfires and sweat, but Ron didn't care. He hugged his brother back fiercely. “I'm sorry,” he whispered.

“Don't be,” Charlie replied. “But don't forget, I'm always here if you need me.”

The way he said it sounded like he _expected_ Ron to need him for something, but Harry came bounding past before he could question it. Bidding a quick goodbye to his brother, Ron let Harry grab his hand and drag him out of the tent.

*~*~*~*

Hermione's Mark appeared during the first week of school. One morning, Ron woke to find the bushy-haired girl sitting on the end of his bed, her expression slightly wild.

“Ron,” she whispered, “I got my Mark.”

The Mark itself was a private thing; families sometimes talked about them amongst themselves, but it was considered crass to display them in public.

“Congratulations, Mione,” he mumbled, blinking sleep from his eyes. “Any idea who it is?”

She shook her head, curls bouncing slightly. “Not yet. Any idea who yours is?”

Ron flew upright, heart pounding. “What do you know about my Mark?” He'd fought hard to conceal it; he was sure no one – aside from his family and Sirius – knew it was there.

Hermione smiled calmly. “I've not told anyone, Ron. But I saw it this summer, on your arm. How long have you had it?”

The opportunity to unburden himself, just a little, was too great to pass up, and he found himself telling Hermione everything. How it had appeared when he was just five. How it said the most awful things. How, sometimes, he forgot it was there when he was with Harry and Hermione, and how guilty that made him feel. Hermione, with her kind eyes and gentle smile, just made it so easy for him to talk like he never could with anyone else. He even told her a little bit about Charlie, about how he was gay, and he thought his Mark was a man. Hermione just nodded thoughtfully.

“What about you? Do you think your Mark is male or female?”

It was an innocent question, he supposed. And a fair one.

The honest answer left his lips unwillingly. “Male.”

It was the first time he'd allowed himself to think it, let alone _say_ it, and panic clawed it's way up this throat with icy claws.

But Hermione pulled him into a safe, strong hug that reminded him of his mother, and held him until he felt okay again.

*~*~*~*

_(p.229, Goblet of Fire)_

After watching his brothers try – and fail – to enter their names for the Tournament, Ron followed Harry and Hermione into the Great Hall for breakfast.

Harry led the way over to Dean and Seamus, who were speculating which Hogwarts students might _really_ be entering the tournament. Warrington, a hulking, hideous Slytherin Quidditch player who never played fair in the matches against Gryffindor – but what Slytherin did? – and Diggory, from Hufflepuff, who Harry seemed to get on with entirely too well at the World Cup, had both been seen putting their names in this morning. Privately, Ron hoped neither of them were chosen.

A sudden roar of cheers snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned to see his brother's on-again, off-again girlfriend, Angelina, headed towards them with a huge grin on her face. “Well, I've done it!” she said, as she sat down next to Seamus. “Just put my name in.”

“You're kidding,” he said, before he could stop himself. Surely, if the twins hadn't managed it, Angelina couldn't have?

“Are you seventeen, then?” Harry asked. And of course she was. Ron had dealt with _weeks_ of drama from Fred when he couldn't decide on the perfect gift for her. How could he have forgotten?

“Well, I'm glad someone from Gryffindor is entering,” Hermione said, proudly, “I hope you get it, Angelina.”

“Yeah, better you than pretty-boy Diggory,” Seamus muttered, and Ron couldn't help but agree.

“Now, now boys,” a playful voice came from behind Ron, “we know our Angie's the best, no need to be mean to the poor boys who don't measure up.”

Ron turned around, grinning, to see Alicia and Katie smiling proudly at their best friend and team mate.

“Katie and I are off down to Hogsmeade, want to come?” Alicia offered her friend.

Angelina just shook her head and waved them away. “No, no. Go and enjoy your date. I've got better things to do than play third wheel while you snog in the Broomsticks.”

Katie flushed slightly and Alicia giggled, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“Okay! See you later!”

As soon as they were out of earshot, Harry grabbed Ron's arm.

“They're dating?” he hissed in Ron's ear. He sounded horrified.

Ron felt a bit sick. Anxiety, Hermione had called it when he'd explained it to her last year, but giving it a posh Muggle name didn't change how awful it felt.

“I didn't know you could do that.”

Hermione, who had leaned in to join the conversation, frowned at Harry's disgusted expression. “Do what, Harry?”

Harry gestured awkwardly towards the Great Hall doors. “That. Y'know. Two girls.”

Ron stared blankly at Harry. His stomach churned uneasily and a quiet rage began to simmer under his skin. _Harry doesn't mean it_ , he told himself, but it didn't help.

Harry flushed uncomfortably under their sudden attention. “I mean, I know two blokes can. Uncle Vernon used to rant on and on about the two that lived on our road. But you aren't _meant_ to, are you? It's not _normal_.”

Ron flinched. His hands curled into fists under the table, and he could feel his arms begin to shake from the tension. He bit his tongue, hard, so that he wouldn't say anything he couldn't take back. Harry didn't seem to notice, but Hermione did. Ron couldn't stand the pity in her eyes.

“Harry,” she said, softly, “your aunt and uncle... They're wrong about a lot of things, yeah? Like magic. And your parents. And this.”

Ron couldn't bring himself to stick around for the rest of the conversation. Instead, he bid a hasty goodbye to Dean and Seamus, and headed for the owlery.

_Dear Charlie,_

_I'm sorry I don't write often, but right now I don't know who else to talk to, and you said I could owl you if I needed you. I think I might be... well, a bit like you. I'm pretty sure I am, honestly, and stuff my Mark says sometimes just sounds like a bloke. I've told Hermione. She's been great. Really, she has. But she's a girl. I've not told any blokes, apart from you, now, I suppose. I wanted to tell Harry first. I think he deserves that – to hear it from me. But this morning he said some really awful things. I don't think he meant them, Char, because he hasn't got a bad bone in his body. You met him, you know what he's like. But his family, if you can even call them that, are a nasty bunch of wankers. They don't like anyone different. I think Harry's just repeating what he's been told. But, Godric, Charlie, hearing those things from him made me feel sick. Angry, too, obviously. I think I broke something in my hand when I punched that wall. But mostly, I just feel sick._

_What do I do Charlie? What do I say?_

_I don't want to lie to him, but I don't want to lose my best friend._

_Ron._

Ron was still smarting from that morning's conversation when he entered the Great Hall with Harry and Hermione for the Halloween feast and choosing of the Triwizard Champions. The conversation at dinner was sparse; mostly just whispering and speculations on who would be chosen, so Ron was able to eat silently without being conspicuous. Despite Hermione's reassurances that she'd set Harry to rights, Ron still wasn't sure what to say to his best friend. Ignoring the topic felt like a lie; facing it felt like too great a risk, even for a Gryffindor.

_(p.236, Goblet of Fire)_

Eventually, Dumbledore stood, silencing the whole hall with a few words.

“Any second,” whispered Lee Jordan, who was sitting between Ron and George.

The flames inside the Goblet turned red, and sparks began to spit out of it. Suddenly, a tongue of red flames arced into the air and a charred piece of parchment fluttered down into the Headmaster's waiting hand. As the flames turned back to a pale blue, Dumbledore read the parchment.

“The champion for Durmstrang,” he announced, “will be Viktor Krum.”

Ron cheered loudly. “No surprises there!” he said to Lee, as Krum stood up to walk through the archway at the top of the Hall. Ron had been breathless watching him fly at the World Cup; anyone else being chosen as champion was unthinkable. The man was a legend!

As the cheers died down, the goblet turned red once again. Dumbledore snagged the second piece of paper from the air.

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour.”

A beautiful, blonde witch rose to her feet as fluidly as water, and half the eyes in the hall were transfixed.

“It's her, Ron,” Harry hissed in his ear. Of course, it was the Veela girl that Harry thought he fancied. She _was_ stunning, and her Veela magic was _designed_ to ensnare people, but that wasn't why Ron had reacted the way he had to the witch. It was the Mark that had peeked out from under her sleeve that had caught Ron's attention. It could've been nothing, of course, but it had been enough to prompt Ron to send a short owl to his brother.

When Fleur Delacour, too, had vanished into the side chamber, silence fell again, but this time it was a silence so thick with excitement Ron could feel the electricity of it on his skin. The Hogwarts Champion was next. Beside him, Ron could see Fred, George, and Lee holding tight to Angelina.

The goblet turned red for the final time, spitting sparks, and throwing out the final piece of parchment. The Headmaster snatched it from the air.

“The Hogwarts Champion is Cedric Diggory!”

“No!” Ron shouted, before he could stop himself. He hated the prick. He was the only Seeker ever to beat Harry; unfairly, and because of dementors, but that didn't stop him from milking it. He strutted around, so full of himself because he just _happened_ to be good-looking. And despite it all, Harry seemed to like him! He was just so _friendly_ to him at the World Cup. It made Ron's blood boil.

Luckily, or unluckily, no one seemed to hear Ron because the entire Hall erupted into wild whoops and hollers of joy. Even the Slytherins seemed mildly impressed, apart from Malfoy. For the first time ever, Ron felt an odd sort of kinship with the prat.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore shouted over the roar of the crowd. “Well, we now have our three champions...” Ron tuned out Dumbledore's speech, content to stew in his own anger for a bit, but he was drawn abruptly out of his thoughts by a sudden hush falling over the Hall.

He looked up to see the goblet inexplicably glowing red, once again spitting out sparks and flames. For the fourth time that evening, a twisting tunnel of red flame coiled out of the chalice, and Ron felt apprehension coiling in his stomach. Instinctively, he reached out to grab Harry's hand, their earlier fight momentarily forgotten as their fingers twined together.

Dumbledore grabbed the parchment. Read it. Paused.

The entire Hall was silent.

Then the Headmaster looked up, searching. Looking along the Gryffindor table. And Ron knew.

He gripped Harry's hand tighter, as if he could somehow stop the next words that left Dumbledore's mouth.

“Harry Potter.”

*~*~*~*

Ron hadn't spoken to Harry in nearly three weeks when Hedwig dropped a letter on his plate during a lazy, Saturday breakfast. Harry and Hermione had probably already gone to Hogsmeade without him, cozy as they seemed to be recently.

He snatched the letter up, hoping and yet dreading it would be Harry. Harry telling him why he put his name in the cup. Harry telling him it was all big mistake, that he wasn't competing at all. Or Harry telling him he was no longer welcome. That he had Hermione, what did he need Ron for?

He tore the letter open, but as soon as he saw the “Dear Ron”, he knew it wasn't from Harry. Why would Hedwig deliver him a letter from Charlie?

_Dear Ron,_

_I'd ask you to tell Harry thanks for the use of his bird, but rumour has it you aren't on speaking terms at the moment._

_I'm in Hogsmeade, staying in a pub called the Hog's Head. Come to the bar and ask for 'Charles'; the barkeep will show you up._

_Come alone._

_Charlie_

Ron had to read the letter three times to make sure he wasn't seeing things. The handwriting was definitely Charlie's, and Hedwig, now stealing bacon from his plate, didn't look like she'd flown far. But what was Charlie doing in a dingy pub in Hogsmeade?

Ron's first thought was that it must be to do with his Mark. And if Charlie had returned to England for that – and not gone home to the Burrow – then something must be horribly wrong.

Feeling a bit sick, Ron shoved aside the rest of his breakfast and walked out of the Great Hall as fast as he could without calling attention to himself. Charlie's letter still clenched in his hand, he hurried out of the castle and down the lane towards Hogsmeade. He had to do a fair bit of ducking into doorways and hiding in alleys to avoid people – Dean and Seamus, Hermione, his sister – but he eventually reached the Hog's Head. It looked and smelled like an abandoned farm. Grimacing, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

An ancient, old wizard with a scraggly grey beard was at the bar, wiping grimy pint glasses with a filthy rag. Two drunks were passed out on bar stools, and a hag in the corner was reading a dangerous-looking text upside down. In all, not exactly the place Ron expected to find himself on a Saturday morning.

“I'm here to see Charles,” he said to the ageing wizard at the bar, who hadn't even looked up at his arrival.

The man shuffled around the end of the bar and up a set of rickety stairs behind a tatty curtain. Ron assumed he was meant to follow. He rapped on a peeling door inexplicably labelled “1392”, then shuffled away, leaving Ron alone in the narrow hallway.

The door creaked open, and Ron could just make out Charlie's face through the dark, dusty air of the corridor.

“It's Ron,” he whispered, and the door opened enough to let him inside.

Once he was in the room – which Charlie had clearly attacked with more cleaning charms than the rest of the place had seen in a century – his older brother turned to him immediately.

“I got your letter.”

Ron nodded.

“What does your Mark say now?”

Ron held out his arm. His Mark hadn't changed in weeks. It just said 'friend'.

Charlie grimaced.

“Why aren't you talking to Harry?”

“He's a lying git, that's why.”

Charlie's knuckles cracked and Ron took a step back, startled.

“What the hell, Char?”

Charlie tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, and that's when Ron finally got a good look at him. Dark, sunken eyes. Drawn, pale face. Burn marks.

“Charlie, what's going on?”

The burly man shook his head, running his fingers through his hair. It reminded Ron of Harry and he had to look away.

“Ron,” Charlie growled, “people _die_ in this tournament. You want to know why I'm here? I brought dragons. Four, massive, dangerous dragons that the champions will have to go up against. No training. No protective gear or enchantments. No back-up. It's a suicide mission.”

Ron's breakfast, which had been sitting uneasily since he received Charlie's letter, made a sudden and violent reappearance.

_Sirius,_

_Harry needs you._

_Hermione told me Harry's written to you about the tournament._

_My brother Charlie's here from Romania. I can't tell you anything more, but I'm sure you can work it out. I'm terrified for him._

_Hermione and I are trying to help as much as we can, but he's not talking to me right now._

_I'm sorry._

_Ron_

_(p.293, Goblet of Fire)_

Harry wasn't in the dorm when he went to bed, and Ron could only hope that Charlie's plan had worked. If it had, Hagrid would be showing Harry the dragons right now. Harry, under his cloak, would be able to listen as Charlie chatted to Hagrid about all of the dragons' strengths and weaknesses, the best ways to outwit them and to escape. Charlie knew Harry would be there, and he'd do his best to indirectly give him as much help as he could.

Ron wished he could be the one to help Harry, but his anger had done too much damage; all he could do was hide in the shadows, reliant on others to do the actual work.

Eventually, Ron grew too antsy to wait in bed, and crept out to sit in the corridor at the top of the stairs. The stone floor was cold, but it kept him awake.

He didn't know how long he'd been waiting when he heard the soft click of the portrait closing, but he'd decided that as soon as he saw Harry, he'd apologise. Apologise for everything and beg for forgiveness. If his best friend faced a dragon on Tuesday and something happened, Ron would never forgive himself.

As he crept down the stairs, he heard the soft sound of murmured conversation. He was fairly sure it was Harry who had entered the common room, so who on earth could he be talking to? He peeked around the corner and saw Harry kneeling at the fireplace. He was _flooing_ someone? The common room fireplace shouldn't even be connected to the Floo system. In his surprise, he missed a step and slipped.

Harry hissed something into the fireplace and spun around to face him.

“Who were you talking to?”

“What's that got to do with you?” Harry snarled, and Ron flinched so hard Harry must have noticed. “What are you doing down here at this time of night?”

“I just wondered where you – ” In the face of Harry's fury, Ron's confidence fled. There was no sense apologising to Harry tonight. “Nothing,” he muttered weakly, “I'm going back to bed.”

“Just thought you'd come nosing around, did you?” Harry shouted.

Ron took a step backwards, retreating up the stairs. “Sorry about that.”

Harry's face contorted into a sneer so much like Malfoy's that Ron's control snapped. “Should've realised you didn't want to be disturbed,” he spat, nastily, “I'll let you get on with practising for your next interview in peace.”

Harry launched a Potter Stinks badge at him, and he perversely thought he'd rather Harry had just punched him, because then at least they'd be touching, be close. But right now, Harry was so disgusted by his existence that he barely tolerated being in the same room and Ron didn't know how to fix that.

“There you go,” Harry hissed. “Something for you to wear on Tuesday. You might even have a scar now, if you're lucky... That's what you want, isn't it?” Then Harry stormed past him, and it took every inch of his self restraint not to reach out and stop him. But he didn't. He stood aside and let him pass.

Once the dormitory door slammed shut, Ron sank onto the common room floor, threw up a privacy charm, and sobbed.

_*~*~*~*_

As the first task began, Ron found himself pressed firmly between Ginny and Hermione. His sister had her arm linked through his – for his comfort or hers, he didn't know – and Hermione, like she always did during Quidditch matches, was holding his hand tightly in hers. Ginny gasped and screamed and cheered as the other three champions competed, but Ron and Hermione sat in stony, anxious silence.

Finally, Harry's dragon was brought out. It wasn't just Ron's imagination. This dragon was bigger and angrier and meaner than any of the other three. Instead of four handlers, this one had ten. The chains were doubled and reinforced. Behind the handlers stood more dragon tamers, wands pointing towards the dragon. Ron's heart beat unevenly.

Across the stadium, Ron picked out his brother by his red hair. When the other dragon handlers retreated, he remained, standing just inside the entrance, wand at the ready. His eyes met Ron's and he nodded. He would protect Harry at any cost.

Hermione buried her head into Ron's shoulder and whimpered.

“You told me yourself he could do this,” Ron whispered. He didn't know how to console the witch when he himself felt close to fainting.

Hermione nodded, curls brushing against his cheek. “I know. I lied. I have no idea if the plan will be worth anything against a dragon.”

Ron's hand clenched involuntarily around hers.

He'd known that. Logically, he'd known that. But hearing her say it ripped his chest wide open. A single tear escaped, and Ginny reached up to brush it away without saying a word.

Then he saw Harry.

He saw Harry raise his wand and shout something, but nothing happened. Hermione didn't seem overly concerned at first, but as the seconds wore on, she began to tense.

Finally, Harry's broom appeared.

“Brilliant, Mione,” he breathed, and a little smile curled the corner of her lips.

“Thanks, Ron,” she murmured back, “but it was Harry's idea. I just helped him to learn the charm.”

Ron thought that was a right sight more helpful than he'd managed to be, and he told her so. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “If this gets Harry out alive, I'll give you anything,” he said, and he meant it. He didn't really understand why it made her cheeks turn pink.

A roar of noise and light and heat enveloped Ron's senses and his gaze flew back to Harry. To the dragon.

Harry was flying better than Ron had ever seen. Diving, banking, rolling, swerving; seeming to pre-empt and dodge the dragon's every move. Merlin, he was brilliant.

And then he wasn't. The dragon's spiked tail ripped through his shoulder and Ron screamed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Charlie lurch forwards. But Harry didn't falter, despite the blood pouring down his arm. He just kept flying, and Ron had never seen something so beautiful and yet terrifying in his life.

He was ducking and circling and soaring, seemingly waiting for something. The dragon reared up, unfurling it's massive wings and launching towards... empty air. Harry had gone into a dive so fast and so steep that Ron could barely see the blur.

And then he had the egg, and the dragon handlers rushed in, and it was over.

It wasn't until Hermione passed him a handkerchief that he realised he was crying.

_(p.313, Goblet of Fire)_

As soon as they got free of the crowd, they rushed towards the medical tent.

Hermione reached him first, throwing her arms around the uninjured side of his body. “Harry, you were brilliant!” she gushed. “You were amazing! You really were!”

Ron stood frozen beside her, eyes fixed on Harry's bandaged arm and slightly singed hair. He was alive. Charlie had called it a suicide mission but Harry had survived.

“Harry,” he choked out. _I'm sorry. Please forgive me. I love you._ “Whoever put your name in that Goblet – I – I reckon they're trying to do you in!”

Harry's face shuttered. “Caught on, have you?” he snapped. “Took you long enough.”

Ron tried to find the words to explain. To apologise. To beg forgiveness. He opened his mouth but nothing came out.

“It's okay. Forget it.”

Ron's heart plummeted. He'd fucked up too badly, this time. This was it.

“No,” he said, desperately, “I shouldn't've – ”

“Forget it,” Harry insisted, but his voice sounded warmer this time.

Ron hesitated, then offered Harry a nervous smile; Harry grinned back, his whole face lighting up, and Ron's heart swelled painfully.

Hermione burst into tears. Ron would never admit it out loud – not to Harry, anyway – but he was fighting back tears himself.

“There's nothing to cry about!”

Hermione levelled Harry with a stare that said she thought he was a bit dim. “You two are so _stupid_!” she shouted, stamping her foot like a child, and Ron couldn't help but smile. She looked adorable, honestly. Then she lurched forward and pulled them both into a bone-breaking hug. Ron wrapped his arms around both of his best friends and finally felt whole for the first time in weeks.

_*~*~*~*_

McGonagall's announcement of the Yule Ball was the worst news Ron had had since Charlie told him about the dragons. Ron didn't even have to go, but Harry did, and everyone else in their year was going; he'd look a right prat if he didn't turn up. At first, he'd tried to talk Dean, Seamus, and Neville into going stag; Seamus had looked at him like he had two heads and said that if there was ever a chance to get some action, this was it, and he wasn't going to pass that up to 'hang out with blokes like a poufter'. Ron had flinched at that, but he noticed Dean did, too, so that made him feel a little better.

The Christmas holidays seemed to be approaching faster than usual, and time was running out. Ron refused to be the only bloke at the ball without a date but, honestly, there was no one he wanted to take. On the last day of term, he and Harry made a pact; they'd both find dates before the end of the day. Harry had gone off after Cho, and Ron was starting to panic. Of course Cho would say yes; who _wouldn't_ want to be Harry's date?

Ron headed for the library, hoping to find Hermione. Honestly, he thought, if he could just take Harry, they'd both have loads more fun than if they had to try to impress girls with their non-existent dancing skills. But Hermione was his friend, too, and he didn't have to try to impress her, either. He could take her, and they'd have fun with Harry and Cho and the whole night would be a success.

Just then, he caught a flash of pale blonde and powder-blue. Fleur. He'd promised Bill he'd try to talk to her, to get to know her. He was heading back to England for the final task, and wanted Ron to introduce them. Like Ron, he had a strong suspicion that they were matched.

Ron hurried after Fleur, who was accompanied by a group of Beauxbatons girls. Harry had been right – they did always travel in packs. As he drew closer, he saw that they were talking to Diggory, laughing and giggling and fawning ridiculously over the Hufflepuff champion.

“Fleur?” he called out. He had no idea what he was going to say to her, honestly, but he figured he could wing it. As long as he didn't say “fancy becoming my sister-in-law?”, he'd be fine.

The French witch turned slowly, then smiled when she saw him. “Eet ees Ronald? Yes?” she asked in a strong accent. “You are the friend of 'Arry Potter?”

Ron smiled back. “Yeah, I am.” He held out his hand for her to shake, determined to be every inch the gentleman his brother would expect him to be.

The Veela stepped closer to accept his hand, and Ron was lost.

He needed a date for the ball, and this was the most beautiful witch in the world. The only witch. She had to be his date or he'd die, he was sure of it. Without her, he would wither away to nothing.

He felt his mouth forming words, almost shouting them, and Fleur drew back sharply as if he'd struck her. Grabbing one of her friends by the arm, she hurried down the steps and out of the castle. Diggory and the other Beauxbatons girls gave Ron an odd look before turning on their heels to follow.

Once she was out of sight, haze disappeared as quickly as it had descended. Ron was left alone and bewildered in the entrance hall.

_*~*~*~*_

The Yule Ball was every bit as awful as Ron had predicted. His date had only agreed out of pity, because Harry had begged her on his behalf. The pretty Ravenclaw was out of his league and not at all his type. His dress robes were awful. He absolutely couldn't dance.

Harry, dancing with his date's sister, looked a tad awkward, but in an endearing sort of way. His hair was some semblance of tamed and his dress robes were miles better than the ancient lace monstrosity Ron had been forced into.

But the worst part of the evening was undoubtedly Hermione. Instead of doing the right thing and going with him or Harry, she had turned up with Krum! Ron didn't know if he was angrier that she was probably helping him when he was up against their best friend, or that she had known Krum – Ron's Quidditch hero – for weeks and never introduced them! In fact, she'd never so much as _mentioned_ even _talking_ to the man! They were meant to be _friends_. Ron had told her all about his Mark, about Charlie... and she hadn't even told him about her date for the ball.

_(p.366, Goblet of Fire)_

“How's it going?” Harry asked, when he sat down beside Ron at the table he had steadfastly refused to leave. Padma was spitting mad, but he didn't care.

Ron didn't answer, and Harry didn't push. A few minutes later, Harry's date was whisked away by a Beauxbaton's boy, and Harry didn't even seem to notice. Perhaps his night was going as badly as Ron's, though Ron couldn't see how that was possible.

Then Hermione came over, and Ron studiously ignored her, even when Harry greeted her as if there was nothing wrong.

“It's hot, isn't it? Viktor's just gone to get some drinks.”

Oh, _Viktor_ , was it? His best friend was somehow on first name terms with the best Seeker in the world _and_ Harry's current enemy, and yet she hadn't deigned to mention it.

“Viktor?” he muttered, angrily. “Hasn't he asked you to call him Vicky yet?”

Hermione had the gall to look _surprised_ that Ron was annoyed!

“What's up with you?”

“If you don't know,” he spat, “I'm not going to tell you.”

Honestly! Hermione was the one person in the world he thought he could tell anything to, but it turned out he'd been wrong. Ron refused to believe that she was totally oblivious; she was far too smart for that. She knew  _ exactly _ what was wrong and was just choosing to ignore it.

Now even Harry was looking at him, and Ron could hardly tell Hermione the truth in front of him. He still hadn't found the right time to explain his Mark or his sexuality to Harry, and in public, in front of the staff and students from three schools was not the time.

“He's from Durmstrang,” he hissed, picking a partial truth and the lesser of two evils. “He's competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You – you're – ” Now he'd started, the anger had swelled up to choke him, and he found it hard to channel his emotions into words. “Fraternising with the enemy, that's what you're doing!”

“Don't be so stupid,” she spat back, clearly assuming his anger was nothing but petty jealousy, rather than a completely rational reaction to her total betrayal of trust. “The  _ enemy _ !”

Hermione continued to defend her position – they'd been friends for ages, apparently, cosying up in the library and sneaking around behind his and Harry's backs – and Ron found it surprisingly easy to spit back accusations of betrayal, not of him, but of Harry and the school in relation to the Tournament. Hermione seemed dumbfounded, and he couldn't really blame her; his false explanations were becoming more ridiculous by the minute. But his feelings were as real as they got, and he felt perfectly justified in taking them out on her regardless of having to lie in front of Harry.

_ (p. 370, Goblet of Fire) _

Eventually, he convinced Harry to sneak out of the Hall with him, and from that moment on, his evening improved. They snagged Butterbeers from the drinks table and wandered through the gardens side by side. Harry, thankfully, didn't seem angry at Ron for his fight with Hermione, and now that they were finally alone, Ron tried to scrounge up the courage to talk to Harry about his Mark. There had been a handful of gay couples at the ball – Katie and Alicia, a couple of seventh year boys, some of the international students – and Harry hadn't seemed phased at all. Ron was taking that as a good sign.

But how could he even start the conversation?

'Harry, my soul mate is a man' was too personal to start with, and he didn't even know that for sure.

'I'm gay' was direct enough, but Ron wasn't sure that he  _ was _ gay. He'd never particularly fancied anyone at all.

'I like men' sounded weird, even in his head.

'You seemed more comfortable around Katie and Alicia' was a soft enough lead in to the conversation. That would let him get a feel for Harry's opinion on the topic without outing himself, first.

Mind made up, Ron opened his mouth, but was silenced by a familiar voice. Snape. Brilliant. They could hardly have a heart-to-heart with that sadistic bastard listening. As they drew closer, he could hear Snape arguing with someone, but he didn't recognise the voice. Snape and Karkaroff appeared around the corner, and Ron froze.

“What are you two doing?” Snape spat at Harry, with even more venom than usual, and Ron bristled.

“We're walking,” he retorted, as rudely as he dared. “Not against the law, is it?”

“Keep walking then,” Snape snarled, but he and Karkaroff retreated without so much as docking points from Gryffindor.

He and Harry were alone again, but the moment was gone.

“What's got Karkaroff all worried?” he asked, just to fill the silence. Harry took the bait and they continued walking. Ron's heart felt heavier than ever with the weight of his secret, and Harry was none the wiser.

_ *~*~*~* _

McGonagall looked at Ron and Hermione over her thin reading glasses as they entered her office. Behind her stood a glowering Snape, and in front of her, on her desk, four vials of a foul, thick looking grey potion.

“Have a seat,” she said, sharply, her lips pinched in disapproval.

Ron shared a panicked glance with Hermione: what on earth had they done wrong?

The door behind them opened, and Cho Chang entered the office, followed by Fleur's little sister and Madame Maxime. Once all three of the newcomers were also seated, Snape spoke.

“You four have been chosen for this next task. You are, it appears, the people our champions will miss most.” His lip curled as if he was disgusted by the sentiment, but Ron's heart gave a hopeful little thud in his ribcage. “Miss Granger, you are here for Mister Krum. Miss Delacour, for Miss Delacour. Miss Chang for Mister Diggory. And Mister Weasley, you are here for Mister Potter. You will each drink this potion, which will render you unconscious until the time at which you are rescued from the Black Lake by your respective champions.”

As terrifying as the prospect of drinking an unknown potion and being sent unconscious into the Black Lake was, Ron could feel joy bubbling unbidden in his chest.  _ He _ was the person Harry would miss most? Of course, they could hardly use Sirius, being a convicted, escaped criminal. But for Ron to be even second best... He faked a yawn to conceal the smile threatening to stretch across his face. Harry had become the most important person in Ron's life – his best friend – back in First Year, and it was gratifying to be provided with irrefutable evidence that Harry felt the same.

Snape passed the potion out to each of them and, while the other three seemed reluctant, Ron drank his without hesitation.

Heavy. Dark. His lungs burned.  _ Harry _ . Then suddenly, there was a bright light, noise, a sharp, cold wind. Ron could feel a hand tight on his robes.

He coughed and felt his lungs ache as water poured out of his mouth.

Harry was in the water beside him looking exhausted but pleased with himself, and Ron grinned. But then he noticed that Harry, stupidly heroic git that he was, was holding onto the littlest Delacour, too, and Ron's heart constricted painfully.  _ What had happened to Fleur? _

It was a slow, difficult swim back to shore; Ron was weighed down by his uniform and the lingering affects of the potion, and Harry was quite obviously worn out and in pain. Ron tried to take most of the French girl's weight to help him, but it only slowed them down.

When they got to the shore, Fleur was waiting, and the weight on Ron's chest disappeared. She was okay. Harry was okay. They were all okay. Thank Merlin.

Ron was wrapped in towels and had hot potions forced down his throat but all he could do was grin, especially when it was announced that Harry had received forty-five points and was now tied in first place. He hated this tournament, he hated that Harry was in danger, but he couldn't help but feel his chest burst with pride every time his best mate defied all expectations to not only survive the tasks, but excel at them. Harry hated the attention, but he was finally getting recognition for his talents, not for being the 'Boy Who Lived', and Ron couldn't help but think he deserved it.

_ *~*~*~* _

Karkaroff and Snape and Mr Crouch and Harry clutching his scar in Trelawney's class all swirled around in Ron's head as he headed down to the Quidditch pitch for the final task. His mum and Bill had come to support Harry, as promised, and Bill had let him know that he'd already 'bumped into' the Beauxbaton's champion. Despite his anxiety over the coming task, he was genuinely happy for his eldest brother; the strong-willed French girl would be a good match for him. Ron hoped that one day, he'd find someone just as well suited. His hand brushed over his covered arm; Bill met his eyes and smiled reassuringly, but Ron remained on edge. Something wasn't right, but no matter how hard he tried to put the pieces together, he just couldn't figure out what.

He sat between his mother and Hermione in the stands. As always, he reached for Hermione's hand, and they laced their fingers together. Ron tried to ignore the way his mum smiled sappily when she noticed. No matter what Skeeter tried to spin in her articles, Hermione wasn't dating him or Harry, and they were all fine with that, thank you very much.

Harry and Cedric were first into the maze, followed by Viktor, then Fleur. And then there was silence. Occasionally, noises and flashes of light escaped the maze. At one point, Ron was sure he saw the silvery glow of Harry's Patronus, but he couldn't be sure. Then, red sparks shot up into the air. Ron and Hermione clung to each other; Ron relaxed when it was Viktor who was pulled out of the maze, but Hermione did not. A few minutes later, Fleur was also pulled from the maze. Bill tore himself away from his mother and rushed to her side, speaking French more fluently than Ron knew he was capable of; clearly, in the months since Ron had first mentioned her, he had been practising. After that, a deathly stillness settled over the whole pitch; no noises, no movement, no lights. At first, no one seemed to notice, but then Fudge, Bagman, and Dumbledore began whispering to one another, their faces impassive, and people started to notice. When Karkaroff and Madame Maxime joined the discussion, the whispers of the crowd grew deafening.

That was when Ron knew his gut feeling had been right. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. His head was spinning and he felt sick; vaguely, he recalled that the last time he'd felt like this was when he and Harry were in the Chamber of Secrets. The odd, painful waves of nausea seemed to emanate from his chest, rather than his stomach, and his head had an odd kind of blurriness that he had associated with bumping his head at the time.

He clung so tightly to Hermione that their knuckles were white. His mum was clutching Ginny and weeping softly. Even Fred and George had fallen silent.

Then, at the exit of the maze, Harry and Cedric suddenly appeared in mid-air and fell to the ground, clutching the Tri-Wizard Cup. The stadium erupted into cheers, and Ron was with them, on his feet and screaming. Harry had done it! He'd survived, and he'd  _ won _ !

Fudge and Dumbledore rushed over to the two champions, followed by Madame Pomfrey, Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime.

“Of course, your champions 'ave won!” he heard the Beauxbatons Headmistress shout angrily. “Thees tournament 'as not been fair!”

Fudge turned to face the furious half-giant, ready to say something, when a scream pierced through the noise.

“Cedric Diggory! He's dead!”

And then the world around him descended into chaos.

_ (p.607, Goblet of Fire) _

It was hours later when he was finally allowed to see Harry. Bill had left Fleur's side and pulled Ron into his arms as if he were still a child; Ron had allowed it. It had been years since Bill had hugged him and stroked his hair, and Ron felt silly in front of Hermione, but he needed the quiet strength of his oldest brother. The nausea had subsided slightly, and the dizziness was almost gone, but there was a deep, aching pain in his chest.  _ Anxiety _ , he reminded himself,  _ just anxiety. I'll be fine once this is all over. _

Finally, the doors to the hosptial wing opened, and Harry was rushed in flanked by Dumbledore and a large, shaggy dog.

His mum was the first to move, rushing towards Harry and shouting his name, but Dumbledore moved between them. “Molly,” the Headmaster said, and his mum froze, “please listen to me for a moment. Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet. If he would like you all to stay with him, you may do so.” At that, Ron relaxed slightly, and Bill patted his shoulder.

“It will be okay,” he whispered, though he was staring curiously at the black dog glued to Harry's side.

Ron opened his mouth to whisper back, but his mum rounded on them, her face white. “Did you hear?” she hissed. “He needs quiet!”

Harry was settled into a hospital bed with a vial of dreamless sleep, and the four people (and one Animagus) settled themselves in for a sleepless night.

As soon as Harry was asleep, the dog moved over to where Ron was sitting, closest to Harry on his right, and rested his huge head in Ron's lap. Ron looked down at him, confused. “You okay, Snuffles?” he whispered, ignoring his mum and Bill's odd looks. The dog whined and gently nudged Ron's left arm. Ron frowned. “Still don't know who it is,” he murmured, shrugging. He could have sworn he saw the dog roll its eyes, but then it just huffed and settled down at Ron's feet as the five of them waited silently for sunrise.

_ *~*~*~* _

On the train home at the end of the year, Ron felt the familiar weight settle onto his chest. It was still as horrible and uncomfortable as it had been the first time he felt it, but now it was almost comforting, too. At the station, he pulled his best friend into a tight hug and whispered that he'd see him soon. Then he watched Harry leave with those awful muggles and let the weight on his chest assure him that Harry was still alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can tell, there will be one chapter per school year/original series book. This means it might take me a little while to get them written and uploaded. Please leave me kudos and comments in the meantime!  
> Also, if there are any scenes from the books you want to see from Ron's POV, please let me know and I'll try to include them.


	5. Ronald Weasley and the Toad

**FIFTH YEAR**

**AUGUST 1995**

As it turned out, Ron was able to see Harry a bit sooner than he thought. They were all sitting down to dinner when a harried owl flew in, carrying a tiny bit of parchment. Mum unrolled it before pursing her lips and handing it to Ron.

_Harry's in trouble but he's safe for now. I'll be staying late. Don't wait up._

_Arthur_

On cue, the weight on Ron's chest tightened like a vice, and he eyed the huge plate of food in front of him with distaste. Bill looked over his shoulder, read the note, and spent most of dinner discreetly vanishing bits of food off Ron's plate when no one was looking. The conversation around the table was a little less lively than usual, but Ron could tell from his mum's expression that she'd noticed his silence.

As they finished, another owl flew in. His mum read it, then clapped her hands to get everyone's attention.

“Right. We're off. Read this, quickly now. Everyone get packed and meet me downstairs in twenty minutes. I'll take Ginny; Bill, you take Ron.”

Two pieces of parchment were handed around, first to Bill, then down the table. The first piece was his dad's writing.

_Dumbledore is here. We all need to move. Harry will join us soon. Read the note enclosed, and apparate to the coordinates below. I'll see you there soon._

The second piece of parchment was in a vaguely familiar, narrow scrawl.

_The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London._

It took almost a week for Harry to turn up. The house was horrible – dark and damp and dirty. Ron could feel the Dark magic in the walls themselves. And that _portrait_ ; just the thought of it made him shudder.

Hermione had arrived the day after Ron; Lupin had had the good sense to write to her, as well, and Ron was grateful for her presence, even if it did mean spending hours in the dingy library. Sirius was behaving oddly towards him, watching him closely at every meal and repeatedly asking if he was 'doing okay', despite his constant reassurances that he was fine. Even Hermione thought it was a bit weird, but she thought it was just a bit of madness – 'the Black family are known for it', she'd said, 'and he was in Azkaban for twelve years'.

There were witches and wizards coming into the house every night, locking themselves in the kitchen for 'meetings'; Bill was allowed to attend, and Ron privately thought it wouldn't be long before Fleur joined, but Mum had forbidden any of her other children from joining the Order, so they were relegated to sitting on the stairs and listening in with Fred and George's Extendable Ears. They rarely heard much that they could understand, aside from the fact that You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters were causing problems.

_(p. 62, Order of the Phoenix)_

Another meeting was just about to start and Ron was begging Fred for a pair of Extendable Ears, when he heard a shout from down the hallway.

“HARRY! Ron, he's here! Harry's here!”

Ron rushed down the corridor to his bedroom to see a thin, pale-looking Harry being hugged madly by their best friend. Just as it had every year, the weight on Ron's chest lifted the minute he saw his best mate.

“Let him breathe, Hermione,” he muttered, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face despite his concern about Harry's appearance. Even Pig seemed to sense Ron's relief, whirling around the room like a thing possessed.

Hedwig, who had taken up residence on Ron's wardrobe since Dumbledore had refused to allow her out of the house, flew down to land on Harry's shoulder.

“Hedwig!” he exclaimed, his face lighting up into a genuine smile, and the guilt Ron felt for keeping her away multiplied tenfold.

“She's been in a right state,” he admitted quietly. “Pecked us half to death when she brought us your last letters, look at this – ” He held out his hand, half-hoping Harry would take it, but he just shrugged dismissively, hardly even glancing at Ron.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry about that, but I wanted answers, you know...”

Ron did know, and he'd felt sick every day for keeping Harry in the dark and putting him at risk. But his mum had insisted they all listen to Dumbledore and he hadn't had a choice. Hermione, not being a Weasley and therefore not mum's child, had actually argued with his mum about it, but she hadn't budged.

“We wanted to give them to you, mate. Hermione was going spare, she kept saying you'd so something stupid if you were stuck all on your own without news, but Dumbledore made us – ”

“Swear not to tell me,” Harry finished, bitterly. “Yeah, Hermione's already said.”

An awkward silence settled over the room, and Ron didn't know what to do with himself. He hadn't wanted to abandon Harry, to leave him with no news, especially with everything that was going on with the Ministry.

“He seemed to think it was best,” Hermione whispered. “Dumbledore, I mean.”

“Right.”

“I think he thought you were safest with the Muggles – ” Honestly, Ron didn't know at all why he'd said that. All three of them knew the whole concept was laughable. Not only had Harry been attacked by dementors, but even aside from that, he was far from 'safe' with the nasty people Dumbledore called Harry's 'family'.

“Yeah?” Harry said, mockingly, and Ron flinched just a little. “Have either of you been attacked by dementors this summer?”

“We told Dumbledore we wanted to tell you what's been going on,” Ron said, gently. “We did, mate. But we've only seen him twice since we came here, and he just made us swear not to tell you important stuff. He said the owls might be intercepted.”

This didn't seem to placate Harry at all. “You're not telling me he doesn't know ways to send messages without owls,” he said, shortly, and Ron couldn't disagree. He'd been thinking the same thing himself all summer. If Dumbledore really had had someone tailing Harry at all times, surely any one of them could have passed information to him in a way that couldn't be intercepted.

“Maybe he thinks I can't be trusted.”

Ron had thought that, too, but he didn't want Harry thinking it. “Don't be thick.”

“Or that I can't take care of myself,” he continued, heedless of Ron's interruption.

“Of course he doesn't think that!”

And then Harry exploded. All of the pain and anger and frustration that must have been building over the summer – especially in the days since the dementor attack – were unleashed on Ron and Hermione. Hermione looked on the verge of tears, but Ron just stood there silently, letting him vent. If this is what it took for Harry to feel better, it was nothing he didn't deserve for agreeing to keep his best friend in the dark all summer.

_ *~*~*~* _

A few days after Harry's hearing – he was cleared, of course, though Ron couldn't help but wonder what exactly the Ministry had been trying to achieve by trying him at all – their Hogwarts letters arrived. He was made Prefect, much to his surprise, though no one but his mum seemed proud of that fact. Not even Harry. But at least he got a new broom out of it; maybe he could finally try out for the Quidditch team and play alongside Harry. He'd always felt a bit left out, sitting on the sidelines, and he'd have less time to be worried about Harry if he was playing instead of watching.

After what felt like the longest and most depressing summer of Ron's life, August moved into September, and they were finally back on the Hogwarts Express. All Ron wanted to do was shut himself in a compartment with his two best friends, but he and Hermione had Prefect patrols to do. The thought of leaving Harry alone in the current climate – where everyone had been fed lies about him all summer – made Ron feel a bit queasy, but Hermione had brushed off his concerns, claiming that no one who actually knew Harry would ever believe the Daily Prophet's lies. Thankfully, Ginny had agreed to stay with Harry until they returned, which made him feel a little bit better. When he was finally able to join them, he was still fuming that Malfoy had been chosen as Prefect, but happy to see Harry sitting with his sister and Neville Longbottom, as well as an odd, Ravenclaw girl named Luna Lovegood, who lived just over the hill from the Burrow.

Dinner did nothing to improve Ron's mood. Hagrid was missing and an awful, toad-faced woman in a hideous pink dress had been hired as DADA professor. Harry was tense beside him throughout the whole meal, and while Ron managed to choke down most of his food, he found he had mostly lost his appetite. Things went from bad to worse up in the common room. Hermione had been wrong; a number of Gryffindors, despite knowing Harry, had decided to believe the Daily Prophet after all. The worst of all was Seamus. By the time Harry got to the dormitory, Ron could feel anger rolling off him in dark, dangerous waves. The tension in Ron's shoulders didn't dissipate until, finally, he heard Harry's even breathing in the darkness. Even then, it was several hours before he himself managed to fall asleep.

_ *~*~*~* _

Ron felt that odd, dizzy sickness when Harry went for his first detention with Umbridge. It was nowhere near as bad as it had been in the Chamber or during the Triwizard Tournament, but it was decidedly present and unsettling.

“Are you okay, Ron?” Hermione asked, eyeing him worriedly. “You look... anxious.”

Ron offered her a weak smile. “Feel it, too,” he admitted. “Not sure why though.”

“Quidditch try outs are this week, aren't they?”

That did make sense, Ron supposed.

“And you've got that new broom,” Hermione continued. “Aren't you going to try out for Keeper?”

Honestly, Ron hadn't even known Hermione had paid attention to any of that; it made him feel sort of warm and soft inside to know that she had.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I will.” Hermione glared disapprovingly when he said he was going to study in the library – she probably knew he was really going for a fly, but if he wanted to try out for Keeper, he needed the practice. Snape's essay could wait.

_(p.271, Order of the Phoenix)_

Every night, when Harry headed off to detention with the Toad, Ron made excuses to Hermione and went down to the pitch again. It didn't get rid of the nausea or the dizziness, but it helped him to forget it for a little while.

He had been intending to keep it to himself but, just his luck, he bumped into Harry on his way back to the common room on Thursday night. He'd ducked out of the way of Fred and George, who would tease him mercilessly if they found out, and walked straight into Harry's path. There was no way he could lie about it, given that he was holding his broomstick.

“What are you doing?” he asked, eyeing Ron's Cleansweep with curiosity.

“Er. Nothing. What are _you_ doing?” The lie didn't sound convincing even to his own ears, and he wasn't surprised when Harry frowned.

“What have you got your broom for? You haven't been flying, have you?”

“I – well – well, okay, I'll tell you, but don't laugh, okay?” Harry was the best flier Hogwarts had seen in years, and Ron couldn't help but feel insignificant compared to him. It didn't help, either, that his predecessor, Oliver Wood, had been so good he'd gone professional straight out of school. “I thought I'd try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I've got a decent broom. There,” he finished, defensively. “Go on. Laugh.”

“I'm not laughing,” Harry said, sounding appalled. “It's a brilliant idea! It'd be really cool if you got on the team! I've never seen you play Keeper, are you good?” Harry sounded so genuine that Ron couldn't help but smile back at him.

“I'm not bad,” he said, shrugging. “Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them during the holidays.” He didn't mention that the twins had always said how rubbish he was at it. “Fred and George are going to laugh themselves stupid when I turn up for tryouts.”

“I wish I was going to be there,” Harry muttered, and Ron wished he was, too. If he felt sick tomorrow night like he had every time Harry had been in detention this week, it would make it that much harder for him to do well. Ron glanced down to hide his dejected expression from Harry and noticed something dark on the back of his hand.

“Harry,” he said, sharply, as anxiety twisted in his stomach, “what's that on the back of your hand?”

“It's just a cut – it's nothing – it's – ”

Ron reached out and encircled Harry's tiny wrist with his fingers, pulling his right hand closer. He finally saw what was marring the back of Harry's hand, and his stomach heaved.

Oh, good Godric.

“I thought you said she was giving you lines,” he said, tightly.

Harry hesitated, as Ron noticed he always did when he thought someone might be angry at him, so Ron gently rubbed his shoulder. Harry's teeth dug sharply into his bottom lip, and he avoided Ron's eyes, but eventually he admitted that the Toad was making him use a Blood Quill.

“That old hag,” he whispered, as rage boiled in his gut. “She's sick! Go to McGonagall! Say something!”

Harry flatly refused to tell McGonagall or Dumbledore, and he stormed into the common room ahead of Ron, abruptly putting an end to their conversation.

Once Ron heard Harry's breathing even out that night, he lit his wand and scrawled out a letter to his dad.

_Dear Dad,_

_Our new DADA teacher is some hag from the Ministry called Umbridge – do you know her? She's had Harry in detention three nights in a row WRITING LINES WITH A BLOOD QUILL. Those are illegal, aren't they? There's got to be something we can do to stop this! I'm really worried about Harry._

_Love, Ron_

The next day, at tryouts, Ron felt worse than ever. He couldn't help but notice that his level of anxiety seemed to increase with the level of trouble Harry was in; it had been steadily increasing all week as Harry's detentions seemed to get more gruelling. Regardless, there was nothing he could do, so he pushed his worries aside and focused on catching the Quaffle – Harry would be so proud of him if he made it onto the team.

He flew his best, but couldn't help but notice that a couple of the others – sixth and seventh years, mostly – flew a bit better. Stopped a few more points being scored. Were a bit lighter and quicker on their much-better brooms. Ron's heart fell a little; he'd been banking on his getting onto the team to cheer Harry up after an awful week. But then Angelina grinned at him and he dared to hope.

“Weasley!” she shouted, and three red-heads turned to face her. She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Not you two trouble makers! Ron! Come here!”

Ron flew over slowly, feeling more than a little bit of trepidation. She was smiling, but Angelina was always smiling. It didn't mean anything.

“You're on the team,” she said, as soon as his feet touched the ground. “But you'll need to work hard at training to get up to Wood's standard.”

Ron nodded enthusiastically. He'd done it! Prefect and Gryffindor Keeper in one year! He couldn't wait to tell Harry! And his mum!

_ *~*~*~* _

_Dear Mum,_

_I sent dad a letter last week – do you know if he got it?_

_I got onto the Gryffindor team – I'm the new Keeper! The new broom works a treat._

_Do you know what the plan is for Christmas? Will Harry be staying with us?_

_Love, Ron_

_Dear Ron,_

_Congratulations on making the team. Share this cake with Harry and Hermione to celebrate, will you, dear?_

_Your father did not receive your letter. Perhaps whatever it was is a matter better discussed in person?_

_You will all be returning to stay with us over the Christmas holidays. Hermione is also welcome, should she wish to join us._

_Love, Mum_

_ *~*~*~* _

Hermione had noticed Ron's antsiness on the nights Harry was with the Toad for detention, and started insisting on staying up with him. Usually, she'd start out by nagging him to do homework, but as his nausea increased, she'd give in and let him lay on the sofa. At some point, Ron had laid his head in her lap, and the feel of her soft fingers absent-mindedly stroking his hair as she finished off her essay took the edge of his dizziness, just a little.

“I worry about him, too,” she whispered, when the common room was finally empty. “But not like this. Not like you do.”

Ron didn't want to think about what that might mean. “He's my best mate,” he said, instead. “I reckon I'd worry about you, too, if you were in trouble all the time like Harry is.”

Hermione smiled sadly. “Maybe,” she allowed, though she didn't sound like she meant it.

_ (p.324, Order of the Phoenix) _

It was nearly midnight by the time Harry returned, looking as pale and drawn as Ron had ever seen him after a summer with the Dursleys.

“Here,” Hermione said, anxiously, pushing an odd bowl of yellow liquid towards Harry. “Soak your hand in that, it should help.”

Harry placed his hand in the bowl, and Ron felt his nausea ease off a little.

“She's an awful woman,” Hermione said, quietly, sounding as horrified by Harry's bleeding hand as Ron felt. “We've got to do something about her.”

“I suggested poison,” Ron said, just to see the brief glint of amusement that crossed Harry's face.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “No. I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any defence from her at all.”

Ron, personally, didn't think that was the Toad's biggest flaw, but he wisely chose not to point that out to Hermione.

“I was thinking,” Hermione said, tentatively, and Ron knew immediately that whatever it was would be a bad idea. “I was thinking that maybe the time's come when we should just... do it ourselves.”

“Do what ourselves?” Harry asked, green eyes narrowed suspiciously at Hermione.

“Well, learn Defence ourselves.”

Ron snorted. “You want us to do extra work? You do realise Harry and I are already behind and it's only the second week?”

“But this is much more important than homework!”

Ron was, for once, rendered entirely speechless by Hermione Granger, homework-enthusiast and extra-credit extraordinaire. What on earth could she have concocted that was more important to her than homework?

A kind of mad, fevered gleam crept into Hermione's eyes, and Ron had the sudden urge to duck for cover.

“It's about preparing ourselves! It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves! If we don't learn anything for a whole year – ”

“Look, Hermione, we can't do much by ourselves,” Ron interrupted. He'd already hoped that Sirius or Lupin might teach them a few basic jinxes over Christmas, but it wasn't anything that would make up for the Toad's awful non-lessons. Certainly not if You-Know-Who turned up at the end of the school year to murder his best mate (again). It had been kind of him, really, to give Harry the year off in third year, but Ron had the feeling that they wouldn't have that kind of luck ever again.

“No, I agree,” Hermione said, shocking Ron for the second time in as many minutes. “We've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books. We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use spells and correct us if we're going wrong.”

“If you're talking about Lupin...” Harry murmured, from where his head was resting weakly on the table.

“No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin,” Hermione cut him off, dismissively. “He's too busy with the Order and anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough.”

“Who, then?” Harry asked, having lifted his head up slightly to frown at her.

Hermione's eyes rolled so hard Ron thought they might fall out of the back of her head. “Isn't it obvious?” she asked.

Ron met Harry's eyes, and they silently agreed that no, it absolutely was not obvious.

Hermione sighed. “I'm talking about you, Harry.”

Harry turned back to Ron with an exasperated look on his face – the 'what is she on' look they often shared over SPEW and homework. But Ron just grinned. Hermione's idea was  _ brilliant _ .

“It's a good idea,” he said. “You teaching us to do it.”

“But I'm not a teacher, I can't – ”

“Harry, you're the best in the year at Defence,” Hermione said, quietly. “But I'm not talking about test results. Look at what you've  _ done _ !”

“How'd you mean?” Harry asked, frowning, and Ron was momentarily speechless. He'd been  _ such _ an idiot last year, thinking Harry had put his own name in that Godric-forsaken cup. Harry would never put himself forwards for anything like that. He had the skill – he had it by the bucketfuls, in fact – but he didn't have the confidence. He had  _ no idea _ how absolutely bloody brilliant he really was.

“First year,” Ron said, suddenly annoyed by how little Harry seemed to think of himself, “you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who. Second year,” he ploughed on, ignoring Harry's interruptions, “you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle. Third year,” he continued, his voice rising to cover up Harry's protests, “you fought off about a hundred dementors at once. Last year, you fought off You-Know-Who again – ”

Ron had been so desperate to force Harry to see how brilliant he really was that he hadn't noticed Harry's rapidly fraying temper. He truly hadn't intended to provoke Harry, but that's what had happened.

Eventually, Hermione managed to calm him down and smooth over the situation – thus salvaging her plans to have Harry teach defence – and Ron headed up to the dorms alone. He was behind closed curtains when Harry followed him into the darkened room but, as usual, Ron stayed awake until he heard Harry settle into a restless sleep.

_ *~*~*~* _

_ Dear Snuffles, _

_ The thing we told you about last time is happening and it's brilliant. You should see H – I bet he'll end up like Moony one day. He was the best we've ever had. _

_ There are still some problems but we are handling them for now. _

_ See you soon _

_ Ron _

_ *~*~*~* _

As the first Quidditch match of the year drew closer – against Slytherin, of all the houses – Ron's nerves started to get the better of him. Of course, he was terrified of not living up to Wood's standards but, more than anything, it was the threats and jibes from the Slytherins that bothered him. Malfoy's snide comments boiled his blood like nothing else, but his hand only twitched for his wand when someone threatened Harry. And they did, a lot. It had him angry and on edge for the whole week, and it was starting to affect him in practices. He'd be doing fine – great, even – and the someone watching would say something nasty and he'd lose all concentration. Start making stupid mistakes. Start letting the Quaffle in. If he did that during the game, he'd never hear the end of it. Worse, he was sure Harry would be both ashamed and disappointed if his own best mate lost Gryffindor the match.

The morning of the match was even worse. Not only was Ron filled with nerves; that horrible, sick feeling was back. The one he'd had during the Triwizard Tournament and during Harry's detentions with the Toad. It wasn't as bad as any of those times but combined with his pre-match nerves, the dizziness and sickness were nearly overwhelming.

He missed every single save. Every last one.

Ron just hoped Harry was quick to catch the Snitch and this awful humiliation would be over.

Ron's hopes were brought to life when Harry caught the little gold ball when the score was only forty-ten to Slytherin. Relief swooped briefly in his chest and the Gryffindor victory, but only seconds later, he watched helplessly as Harry was hit by a Bludger and knocked from his broom, falling several feet to the ground. He gripped his own broom hard as a wave of dizziness hit him. This was getting out of hand; he needed to talk to Hermione.

He completely missed the apparently fantastic fight between Harry, George, and Malfoy; judging from Malfoy's bloody face, he wished he'd seen it. But the news that Harry and his brothers had all been banned from Quidditch put a bit of a damper on even that.

_ *~*~*~* _

Parvati and Lavender were squashed together in an armchair by the fire, giggling obnoxiously over an article in _Witch Weekly_.

Hermione kept huffing every time they got too loud but, privately, Ron felt whatever it was was probably more interesting than 'Pre-1200 Goblin Rebellions' or 'The Uses of Salamander Blood', both of which were essays he had yet to write.

“Ooh, look!” Parvati squealed, and Hermione slammed down her Ancient Runes textbook so violently that the whole table shook.

“What the location of your Mark tells you about your soulmate,” Lavender read, as if announcing it to the whole room, instead of just the girl sitting beside her.

“Studies show that the location of your Mark will reveal the truth about your relationship.”

Hermione turned an odd shade of red at that, and Ron realised he'd been staring at her for the last several minutes. Luckily, she was too incensed by her dorm mates to notice.

“There is not one single peer-reviewed study or Unspeakable experiment that shows anything of the sort,” she hissed angrily, and Ron knew better than to comment. Instead, he nodded silently and pretended to be captivated by his potions textbook.

“Your Mark?” Harry asked, quietly, from Ron's other side. “I thought that was just werewolves, like with Moony and Padfoot.”

Despite Lavender and Parvati's continued conversation, and eerie silence seemed to descend over the trio as Ron and Hermione turned to stare incredulously at their best friend. There was far too much to unpick in that one sentence. Which topic should they tackle first? Soul marks or his godfather's apparent hots for a certain werewolf?

Harry blushed and looked away. “I was talking to Moony and Padfoot in the summer. Moony marked Padfoot cause they're friends.”

Ron felt his mouth drop open and he was sure his cheeks were turning an odd shade of pink.

Right, then. They'd start with the godfather issue.

“Harry,” Hermione said, slowly, “can you tell us _exactly_ what your godfather said?” They had to be careful not to use Sirius' or Remus' names in public – one was still a wanted criminal, and the other a werewolf. It would attract too much attention.

Harry nodded. “Sure. I came down early for breakfast one morning and Padfoot was in the kitchen topless. Y'know, with all his tattoos out and everything.”

Hermione blushed and cleared her throat. “Okay, maybe no quite as detailed as that, Harry.”

Ron snorted. Of course Hermione had a crush on Sirius. She was exactly the kind of girl to fall for his bad boy vibe. Never mind that he was twenty years older – and, apparently, gay.

Harry looked between his friends and frowned, but seemed to shrug it off. “I was just explaining _how_ I saw it. He has a bite mark here.” Harry gestured to where his neck met his shoulder. “So I asked where he got it.”

Ron knew _exactly_ where he'd gotten it, but was too stunned by both this turn of events and Harry's obliviousness to say anything.

Hermione's cheeks were turning steadily pinker as the conversation progressed, and Ron couldn't help but find it amusing.

“Right,” Hermione said, “and, ah, what did Padfoot say?”

Harry's brow creased. “That's the thing. He didn't say anything. He seemed a bit uncomfortable, actually. Then Moony came in and I could see _him_ looking at the bite mark, too. And it made sense that that's the kind of thing a... well, someone like him might do. Cause dogs do, don't they? Bite each other, I mean.”

Hermione nodded stiffly.

Ron was amazed that Harry could have all the facts, come to the right conclusion, and _still_ miss the point entirely.

“So I asked Moony if he was the one who bit Padfoot.”

Ron bit his cheek to stifle a laugh.

Hermione looked scandalised.

Harry still looked sweetly, innocently earnest in his retelling of the conversation, blissfully unaware of what had really occurred.

“Then Moony gave Padfoot an odd look and told him to put some clothes on. Probably in case Mrs Weasley came down and saw him or something. But anyway,” Harry continued, still entirely oblivious, “after Padfoot left, Moony sat down at the table, looking all serious. But he always looks serious. He said that he'd bitten Padfoot because they were mates.” Harry paused thoughtfully, pulling his lower lip into his mouth and biting it. “He asked me if I was okay with that, which was weird. I know they're mates; them and my dad were mates since Hogwarts.”

Oh, Merlin.

“Harry,” Ron and Hermione said at the same time. Hermione looked at Ron and dropped her head to the table with a _thunk_. “No, that's fine, you tell him.”

Bloody brilliant. Cheers, Hermione.

Ron turned to Harry and decided blunt was best. It wasn't like he had any tact, anyway.

“Harry, the word 'mates' means something different to werewolves.”

Harry stared blankly at him.

Good Godric.

“To a werewolf, a mate is like a...” Ron fished for the right word. “Like a boyfriend. Or husband.”

Harry's face turned bright red and he buried it in his hands. “Oh, God,” he whimpered. “Oh, God, how did I miss that?”

Ron hid a laugh behind his hand, and he could see Hermione's shoulders shaking where she was bending over the table to hide her face.

“Oh, look! It says here that if your Mark is on your chest, it indicates fidelity, but if it's on your neck, that's passion! I think I'd rather have passion, wouldn't you?” Lavender crowed loudly, the stupid cow.

Parvati leaned over Lavender's shoulder. “Mine's on my wrist. What does that mean?”

Harry's head snapped up.

“Parvati's dating a werewolf?” he hissed.

Ron sank backwards into the sofa and willed it to suffocate him.

“No.”

“But you just told me – ”

Hermione dragged her head up off the table. “Two different things, Harry,” she murmured. “Siri— _Padfoot_ will have two marks that link him to Moony.”

Ron knew he did. Sirius' Mark was on his collarbone. He'd seen it in third year.

Harry, quite understandably in Ron's opinion, looked even more bewildered. His eyes were wide and he was chewing intently on his lower lip. Ron didn't realise just how fixated he'd become by that until Hermione nudged him in the ribs.

“Ron,” she hissed, “I am not doing this alone.”

Harry's eyes flickered uncertainly between them.

“Right,” Ron said, feeling a bit uncomfortable, “if you'd grown up in a wizarding family, your parents would've explained it to you... Godric, help me.” He tried to find the right words, to think back to what his own dad had told him years ago. “Every witch and wizard gets a Mark. It's one word, somewhere on your body, that tells you what your soulmate wants most. Like... the Mirror of Erised, yeah?”

Harry nodded enthusiastically at the mention of something he actually recognised.

“Some people get them really young, usually if their soulmate is older than them, or a bit late, if their soulmate is younger. The average age is sixteen for a witch, and seventeen for a wizard, but people have been known to get them as early as birth or as late as their thirties,” Hermione chimed in, starting to settle into lecture mode. “McGonagall took me aside in first year to explain it to me. It's all rather fascinating. No one has ever been able to prove what causes them or how exactly they work, but the Arithmantic equations all line up – every couple matched by a soul Mark is truly the best possible pairing from every conceivable standpoint. The Mark is some kind of physical manifestation of soul magic, of the link between two souls that are halves of a whole.”

Harry blinked at Hermione, shell-shocked.

“You mean,” he whispered quietly, “that I have a _soul mate_?”

Hermione nodded. “Of course. Everyone does.”

Harry's eyes began to fill with tears but he angrily brushed them away with his sleeve.

“You mean to tell me,” he hissed, “that after all this time. After _fifteen years_ of believing I'm completely unlovable, worthless in anything other than fighting Voldemort. After everything I've suffered. You mean to tell me that, somewhere out there, someone _loves me_? And not one person even bothered to _mention this_ until _now_?”

Harry snatched up his bag and stormed out of the common room, leaving Ron and a very shaken Hermione in his wake.

Silently, without taking his eyes off the common room door, Ron reached out and pulled Hermione into his chest.

They stayed like that until Hermione fell asleep.

_ *~*~*~* _

_ (p.457, Order of the Phoenix) _

After the last DA meeting of the year, Ron and Hermione headed back to the common room without Harry.

“Why are we leaving Harry behind, again, Hermione?” Ron whispered as they walked as inconspicuously as possible down the corridors towards the common room. They were Prefects, after all, and entirely within their rights to be patrolling after hours.

Hermione snorted. “Didn't you see Cho eyeing him? Clearly, she wanted to get him alone.”

Ron stared incredulously at his best friend. “Whatever for?”

Hermione just blushed and rolled her eyes. “When Harry gets back, you can ask him.”

Harry joined them in the common room nearly half an hour later.

“What kept you?” he asked him almost immediately. He'd been replaying Hermione's comments for the past thirty minutes to no avail, and now he was beyond curious.

“Are you alright, Harry?” Hermione asked when he didn't reply.

Harry still said nothing, and Ron began to feel concerned for his best mate.

“What's up?” he said, propping himself up on his elbow to get a better look at him. “What's happened?”

“Is it Cho? Did she corner you after the meeting?”

Harry nodded blankly.

Ron sniggered; what on earth had the girl done to him?!

“So, er, what did she want?” he asked.

“She – she, er...”

“Did you kiss?”

What the – ! Ron sat up so quickly that his bottle of ink went flying all over the rug. Good Godric, that wasn't at all where he thought this conversation was headed! Why on earth would Harry be kissing Cho?

Harry looked between them slowly, then nodded.

Ron couldn't help it; he burst into slightly hysterical laughter. Why on earth were Harry and Cho kissing? And why did Harry look so  _ traumatised _ by it?

“Well,” he said, after Hermione's look of disgust sobered him up a bit, “how was it?”

Harry's teeth sank into his lower lip as the thought about how to reply. Surely, no kiss was so complex that it took this level of thought to describe?

“Wet,” he said, eventually, and Ron snorted. “Because she was crying.”

Crying?! Circe, Ron knew Harry was inexperienced, but there was no way that kissing him was so awful it led to tears.

“Oh... Are you that bad at kissing?”

“Dunno,” Harry said, his teeth once again finding his bottom lip, and Ron had the inexplicable urge to pull it free with his fingers. “Maybe I am.”

“Of course you're not,” Hermione said from the sofa.

Oh, Merlin, no. If Hermione had kissed Harry they should have told him about it! The thought of his two best friends kissing makes him feel distinctly uncomfortable, and he hopes to Godric that they haven't.

“How would you know?” he snapped.

“Cho spends half her time crying, these days.”

“You'd think a bit of kissing would cheer her up,” he muttered.  _ If I'd been the one kissing Harry _ , he thought,  _ I'd certainly not have been crying.  _ He jerked abruptly. What the bloody hell was he doing having thoughts like that?

“Ron,” Hermione said, cutting through his scrambled thoughts, “you are the most insensitive wart I have ever had the misfortune to meet.”

Ron thought that was a tad unfair, since Hermione had met both Percy  _ and _ Snape.

“What's that supposed to mean? What sort of person cries when someone is kissing them?” Unbidden, the image of  _ him _ kissing Harry rose into his mind, and Ron thought desperately of all 237 legal Keeper moves to distract himself.

“Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?”

No, Ron couldn't say he did. He also couldn't say he cared a great deal, really, given that he was dealing with his own internal crisis caused by the disturbing yet oddly enticing image of Harry kissing him. And most definitely not crying.

Ron could honestly say he paid very little attention to the rest of their conversation, given that every time he stopped listing illegal Quidditch moves, a certain green-eyed boy with surprisingly soft-looking lips popped back into his brain and scrambled the whole thing. Between this and the feeling-sick issue, Ron  _ really _ needed to talk to Hermione alone. Unfortunately, with Harry banned from Quidditch and Ron still on the team, they were never alone anywhere and he rarely saw her most days. His other option was Bill, but he couldn't write a letter, given that the post was being intercepted by the Toad. But it was nearly Christmas, and he could try to get Hermione or Bill alone over the holidays. He could wait that long.

_ (p.463, Order of the Phoenix) _

Ron had only just started to drift off to sleep when a wave of nausea and dizziness washed over him so strongly that he immediately heaved his dinner onto the floor.

In the same moment, an agonised scream echoed from Harry's bed.

Fighting the sickness, Ron hauled himself out of bed and over to Harry's, pulling back the curtains so hard he almost ripped them. Around him, other curtains were being flung open and wands were being lit.

Harry continued to scream, his body thrashing around on the bed as if he were bing tortured.

“Harry!” Ron yelled between heaves. “Harry! Wake up!”

He reached out to shake him; his skin was boiling hot to the touch and he jerked away violently.

“HARRY!” Ron screamed, hysterical now. “HARRY!”

Harry clutched his forehead, leaned over the side of his bed, and much like Ron had done, vomited onto the floor.

“Ron,” he rasped, and the sound was so painful he flinched. “Your dad. Your dad's been attacked. Your dad! He's been bitten, it's serious, there was blood everywhere.”

Behind him, Neville said he was going for help.

“Harry, mate,” he said, hesitantly reaching out to rest a hand on Harry's sweat-soaked shoulder, “you were just dreaming.”

“NO!” Harry screamed, and Ron took a step back. “I was there. I saw it. I  _ did  _ it. It wasn't a dream.”

Harry had been right. It wasn't a dream. An hour later, five of them, including Harry, had been Portkeyed to Grimmauld Place and were being held hostage by Sirius with no idea at all if their dad would be alright. They sat in the dark, dingy kitchen, not speaking or sleeping, for the entire night. Ron wanted to reach out to Harry, to hold him, to give or receive comfort of any kind, but now was not the time. Harry had  _ been  _ the snake. He'd seen his dad get attacked as if he was the one doing it himself. There was no comfort Ron could offer him for that.

_ *~*~*~* _

_Dear Mum,_

_You'll never guess what! Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup because of me! Well, and Gin, cause she caught the Snitch, but I saved every goal!_

_I'm glad to hear that dad's doing better and that he's back at work._

_Yes, I promise I'm staying out of trouble and that I won't suddenly leave school like Fred and George. And Hermione is making us study for our OWLs, don't worry._

_ Love, Ron _

_ *~*~*~* _

_ (p.725, Order of the Phoenix) _

Ron hadn't felt poorly for weeks since Harry had stayed out of detention and stopped his lessons with Snape. He'd nearly finished his exams, he'd won the Quidditch Cup for Gryffindor, his Dad was recovered from the snake bite, and even with Fred and George gone, life was very difficult indeed for the Toad. In all, he was feeling pretty pleased with himself as he began his History of Magic exam. Not that he had a clue what the answers were, mind, but he could always make some up.

_ How was the Statute of Secrecy breached in 1749 and what measures were introduced to prevent a recurrence? _

Wicked. He didn't even have to make that one up. Fred and George thought the wizards who swapped out Muggle fireworks for magical ones at some royal musical performance were legends. Even if they did accidentally fire to parts of London by accident.

He was halfway through writing an incredibly detailed, though likely not historically accurate, account of the event when the dreadful feeling swept over him like a tidal wave.

In the same moment, three rows ahead of him, he saw Harry collapse sideways and slump to the floor with an ear-splitting scream.

Ron didn't write a single legible word on the exam after that. If his mum and Hermione wanted to give him hell for failing, let them. Harry was far more important.

The second the clock chimed for the end of the exam, he and Hermione tore out of the Great Hall.

“Where d'you think he went?”

“Madame Pomfrey?”

He grabbed her hand and dragged her left towards the hospital wing, pushing against the tide of students headed outside or to their common rooms.

“Harry!” Hermione screamed, and Ron looked up to see Harry racing towards them looking weak, terrified, and yet determined. “What happened? Are you all right? Are you ill?”

Harry's scar was painfully raised and red; the collapse had something to do with You-Know-Who, Ron was sure of it. “Where have you been?” He should be in the hospital wing or talking to McGonagall, not wandering around the corridors!

“Come with me,” he snapped, looking around furtively. They hurried after him as he strode down the corridor, peering through doorways until he found an empty classroom. The second they were all inside, he slammed the door behind them and leaned heavily against it.

“Voldemort's got Sirius.”

Ron's heart rocketed down into his feet. “ _ What _ ?”

“How d'you – ”

“Saw it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam.”

“But  _ where _ ? How?”

“I dunno how,” Harry said, uncomfortably, and Ron was sure it had been a vision like the one about his dad, where Harry had been the snake. If it had been true last time...

“But I know exactly where. There's a room in the Department of Mysteries. He's trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there. He's torturing him.”

By this point, Harry was shaking so hard he could barely stand up, and Ron reached for him just as he brushed past and sank onto a desk, looking pale and unnerved.

After that, it was a case of planning a rescue mission. One of Harry's visions had saved Ron's dad, so the least Ron could do was help Harry save his godfather. Hermione, however, remained unconvinced that the vision was real, which is how Ron found himself face-to-face with Umbridge, trying to convince her that Peeves was causing some unholy damage down in the Transfiguration corridor. Unluckily for him, Filch came by at the same moment to tell her that Peeves was in the Astronomy tower. From there, the whole plan fell apart, and all six of them were being held hostage in the vomit-worthy pink office of the Toad herself.

Hermione's performance with telling Umbridge about trying to speak to Dumbledore about his weapon was ingenious. Really, properly brilliant, and Ron was so entranced by it that he temporarily forgot he was being held captive by a bunch of miniature Death Eaters. But then the Toad insisted on taking Harry with her to wherever it was Hermione was planning on leading her, and Ron felt panic start to rise again. But then Ginny met his eye, and the game was on. The Slytherins did get a few hits in to start with, but with all the training Harry had given the four of them, they were no match once they got their wands back. Seeing Ginny hit Malfoy with a bat-bogey would sustain Ron's Patronus for months to come, he was sure of it.

_ *~*~*~* _

Consciousness came back to Ron in stages. First, he was aware of a dim light around him. Then, of the sounds of whispering and a smell that could only be the Hogwarts hospital wing. The third thing he was aware of was a hand grasping his. Then the pain hit him.

Ron groaned, his eyes slowly opening and adjusting to the dim candlelight. He was definitely in the hospital wing. With significant difficulty, he turned his head to the right.

Harry.

His head was at an awkward angle, resting on Ron's hospital bed, and one of his hands was grasping Ron's tightly. His eyes were red and puffy, as if he'd been crying.

“You're awake,” came a soft whisper to his left, and he slowly turned his head to see Hermione. She, too, looked as if she'd been crying, and had bandages covering her chest and stomach under her nightgown.

“What happened?”

Hermione flinched. “Well,” she said, softly, “a lot. We broke into the Department of Mysteries – ”

“I remember that. I remember getting there. Malfoy was there, his dad I mean, and he wanted Harry to give him something. After that, it's all a bit fuzzy.”

“The prophecy. Voldemort sent Harry a false vision to lure him there so that he could get hold of a prophecy. Unfortunately, it all went a bit wrong. You were hit by a  _ Conturbus _ Jinx; whoever did it must not have been very good, though. Madame Pomfrey says there's no permanent damage, but you'll probably get headaches for a while. Then you got attacked by a tank full of brains... Those did quite a lot of damage, actually. You'll have scars.” Hermione gestured to the bandages covering his neck, chest, and left arm. “But, honestly, you were doing quite well, all things considered. Then you went a bit funny, and sort of screamed and vomited... Then you collapsed. I didn't see those bits; I was unconscious from a curse Dolohov sent at me. But Neville, apparently, went a bit mad when you collapsed, casting  _ Renervate _ and trying Muggle CPR. He thought you were dead.”

Ron supposed he should feel horrified, hearing all that, but he just felt numb. It was like hearing a story about someone else, someone he only vaguely knew and didn't care much about. “Then what happened?”

“We brought you back here to Madame Pomfrey. She said you'd drained your magical core. Ron, you nearly  _ died _ .”

Hermione's eyes filled with tears and Ron wanted to comfort her, but his left side was currently so numb and bandaged, he couldn't move it even if he had wanted to.

“What happened to you?” he asked, partly out of curiousity, and partly to change the subject. Unfortunately, he had miscalculated, because Hermione began to sob in earnest.

“D-Doloh – Dolohov cursed me,” she whimpered, “right here.” She indicated a long, diagonal line from her collarbone all the way to her hip. “Madame Pomfrey says there's,” Hermione paused and took a deep, shaky breath. “She says there's internal damage.”

Ron felt his chest constrict painfully. “What kind of damage?”

Hermione lowered her head into her hands, her long, matted curls falling onto the sheets of the hospital bed. “Most likely,” she said, in an oddly detached voice, “I'll never be able to have children of my own.”

It was in that moment that Ron felt his heart break. A distinct, painful splintering feeling cracked through his chest, and he forgot how to breathe. “We can never tell Harry these things,” he whispered earnestly. “Harry can never know.”

Hermione lifted her head to reveal wet, puffy eyes, and met his gaze with steely determination. “Harry can never know.”


	6. Ronald Weasley and the Emotional Rollercoaster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't already seen it, I've uploaded a short one-shot titled "Hogmanay" set during Fourth Year in the Wish Fulfillment universe. It's mainly fluffy angst, and not essential to the story line, but it does link to one scene in this chapter.

**SIXTH YEAR**

**JULY 1996**

_Dear Hermione,_

_Mum says you can come over on Monday, if you like? I think we're expecting Harry late next week – Dumbledore's bringing him. There's a few things I want to talk to you about. Write back so I can tell mum when you're coming._

_Love, Ron_

Hermione stepped through the Floo into the Burrow three days later with a hissing Crookshanks in one hand and her trunk in the other. Mum immediately bustled over to give her a hug; she never seemed to notice that Hermione looked slightly alarmed when she did this. But Hermione didn't flinch away or stiffen up like Harry sometimes did, so Ron didn't feel a need to defend her in quite the same way.

“Hermione, dear, just in time for lunch! Now, you'll be sharing with Ginny, so Ron will take your trunk up. And if you're in Ron's room, I want the door leaving open, if you please.”

Ron could feel his cheeks burning and he shrugged apologetically at Hermione. Ever since the Tournament in fourth year, his mum had been convinced they were dating and not a thing he or Ginny said could convince her otherwise. Perhaps if he dated someone else for a bit, she'd forget about it and leave them alone. Honestly, he'd meant to do it last year but hadn't had the time. This year, though, he would make sure he found someone to date for a little while, just to get his mum off Hermione's back.

“Thanks, Mrs Weasley, but really, I can take my own trunk up.”

“Nonsense, dear. Ron will do it.”

Ron grabbed the trunk – leaving the cat to Hermione because, honestly, that thing still hated him – and headed up the stairs to Ginny's room. Hermione followed him into the empty room and shut the door.

“Is this about Harry?”

Ron hesitated for a brief moment, then nodded. He was pretty sure it had everything to do with Harry, but he didn't know why.

“It's not just anxiety, is it?”

He shook his head. Of course he was worried about his best mate, but the weight on his chest every summer, the sudden waves of dizziness and nausea when Harry was in trouble, the way he'd literally collapsed in the Department of Mysteries... He was sure there was something else going on.

Hermione sank down onto the bed beside Ron and grabbed his hand. He laced his long, pale fingers with her tiny, tanned ones and squeezed gently.

“What does your Mark say?”

Ron shrugged. “Nothing much, these days. Most of last year, it said 'truth' or 'Quidditch'. Most of the summer, it's said 'family' or 'home' or 'Hogwarts'.”

Hermione frowned. “Well, I had hoped it would say something a bit more specific.”

Ron shrugged. “Not important right now, is it, with Harry in danger and You-Know-Who back out there?”

“It might be related, that's all,” she said sharply, pursing her lips.

“I don't see how.”

“The first time you felt it was in the Chamber?”

“The dizzy, sick thing? Yeah.”

“But you'd bumped your head. And you were worried about Harry _and_ Ginny,” she pointed out, calmly, twisting a curl around her fingers with one hand. Her other hand was tracing patterns on Ron's palm and it was oddly soothing.

“I suppose... But there's still that feeling I get in my chest every summer.”

“The Dursleys are awful,” she said, reasonably. “I feel a bit uncomfortable sending him back there, too.”

Logically, Hermione was making perfect sense, but Ron still didn't agree that it was just simple nerves. “But what about when he was kidnapped by Voldemort? Or every time he had detention with Umbridge? Or the Department of Mysteries? The first two, I felt sick before I even knew something was wrong.”

Hermione was silent for a long time, and Ron started to worry he'd said something wrong. She'd withdrawn her hand from his and was absent-mindedly chewing a nail, a deep crease between her eyebrows as she ran things over in her head.

“Ron... you don't – Look, don't take this the wrong way, but I have to ask – ”

Icy dread washed through his veins. Had she guessed...?

“You don't... _fancy_ Harry, do you?”

“Absolutely not!” The answer left him like a reflex, and Hermione eyed him suspiciously. “Absolutely not, Hermione. He's my best mate. Just cause I worry about him doesn't mean I fancy him.”

“Ron – ”

“He's not even gay.”

“But you are.”

“No, I'm not. I've never dated anyone, how would I know?”

The look in Hermione's eyes was suspiciously close to pity, and Ron looked away.

“It's lunchtime. I'm going downstairs to eat.”

He stood up and stormed from the room, throwing the door open... to reveal a furious-looking Ginny. He shoved his way past her, stomped into the kitchen, and completely ignored both of them for the rest of the day.

All he'd wanted was to have Hermione listen to him and maybe come up with a reasonable explanation or solution for how he was feeling. It was none of her goddamn business how he did or didn't feel about Harry; he was straight, it would never go anywhere, and he'd get over it. There was no need to discuss it. Why couldn't she have left well enough alone?

To make matters worse, Ginny had obviously gone and blabbed to Mum, because the day before Harry was due to arrive, instead of putting up a spare bed in his room, she'd set up a bed in Fred and George's old room instead.

“Don't you think Harry would much prefer his own room, dear?” she'd said, in a falsely bright tone. Ron had countered that they shared a room all year round at Hogwarts, and his mum's expression had darkened immediately. “And if I hear one word from Minerva or Dumbledore that you're misbehaving, I'll bring you straight home.”

Ron had, wisely, decided to give up on the whole thing as a bad job.

_*~*~*~*_

“Is Harry here, yet?” Ron asked over breakfast on Saturday. His chest felt somewhat lighter, and he could have sworn he'd heard Hedwig at some point.

“Yes, he arrived last night. _Both of you_ can go up and see him.”

Ron bristled and glared at Hermione. It was _her fault_ that his mum was behaving like this. He'd been annoyed enough when she was sure he and Hermione were dating, but this was another level. Imagine a whole summer not being allowed to be alone with your best mate! He'd have to talk to Dad, if he could catch him in a good mood, because this was getting ridiculous and Dad was the only one who could rein her in.

Ron shovelled the last rasher of bacon into his mouth, then grabbed Hermione's arm and dragged her away from her porridge. “You heard Mum,” he said, around his mouthful of fry-up, “let's go see Harry.”

_(p.88, Half-Blood Prince)_

Ron barrelled up the stairs and into the twins' old room, slamming open the door and yanking back the curtains.

Harry's dark, messy hair barely peeked out from under the covers, and Ron tapped the top of his head; he wanted to throw himself down onto the bed beside Harry, but he refused to give anyone more fuel for the 'Ron-fancies-Harry' fire. “We didn't know you were here already!”

Harry peered out from under the blankets, his face adorably sleep-creased and his eyes unfocussed. Ron grinned. “All right?”

“Never been better,” he muttered back unconvincingly. He rubbed the top of his head and Ron felt immediately guilty. “You?”

“Not bad,” he said, slumping down onto a box beside the bed. “When did you get here? Mum's only just told us!”

“About one o'clock this morning,” Harry mumbled, wiping the sleep from his eyes. He looked exhausted. His pale, drawn face and the dark circles under his eyes were the worst Ron had ever seen. He'd known the death of his godfather had hit him hard, but seeing the evidence in front of him was heart-wrenching.

“Were the Muggles alright? Did they treat you okay?” The minute his voice softened, Hermione's expression sharpened, but he ignored her. Harry needed looking after, and he wasn't going to abandon that duty just because of her ridiculous notions about his feelings.

“The same as usual,” he said, as Hermione sat on the end of the bed. Ron knew it was so she could see his face, not to be closer to Harry, so he purposefully put on his most disinterested expression. Hermione huffed and turned her attention back to Harry. “They didn't talk to me much, but I like it better that way. How're you, Hermione?”

“Oh, I'm fine,” she replied, breezily.

Harry shifted uncomfortably under he gaze. “What's the time? Have I missed breakfast?”

Ron had suspected Harry was here from the minute he woke up that morning, so had put all of Harry's favourites on a plate ready for him before anyone else could come down and eat it all. But he didn't tell Harry or Hermione this. “Don't worry about that, Mum's bringing you up a tray; she reckons you look underfed.” Because Hermione was still watching him suspiciously, he rolled his eyes for effect and immediately redirected the conversation to Dumbledore.

_*~*~*~*_

His plan to find a girlfriend was well underway by the first day of lessons. He'd nicked a Fanged Frisbee off Hermione (who, in fairness to her, had been doing her duty as a Prefect and confiscated it from a fourth year) and Lavender Brown had found him amusing. She'd even winked at him over her shoulder when Hermione wasn't looking. Lavender Brown was _exactly_ the kind of girl he was looking for. He knew his mum couldn't stand her, so there was no chance of her being invited home to meet the family, but their families were cordial, so Mum would have to be polite about it all the same. Mum had gone to school with Lavender's Aunt Violet, and his dad worked with Mr Brown at the Ministry; neither could say anything negative without offending people they'd rather not offend. Lavender herself would be perfect, too. Seamus had dated her last year, so Ron knew loads about her. She would be more or less oblivious to his emotional unavailability, had no interest in long talks about feelings or the future, and would be perfectly happy to spend hours talking _at_ him or snogging with absolutely no input at all from him.

Honestly, it wasn't difficult at all, and Ron couldn't for the life of him remember why getting a date for the Yule Ball had seemed so insurmountable. Just a few smiles, a few jokes, a couple of compliments on her various, awful hair accessories, and Lavender was fawning all over him and promising to come to the Quidditch tryouts to support him.

_*~*~*~*_

_(p.218, Half Blood Prince)_

When the morning of tryouts came, Ron wasn't feeling quite so confident. Harry was Captain, now, but that only meant he had to be even better so that no one could accuse him of getting onto the team based on friendship rather than skill.

“Tryouts might take all morning, the number of people who have applied,” Harry said, sounding somewhat mystified. So was Ron, if he was being honest; last year, they could barely scrounge together enough people to fill the team after Harry and the twins were banned, let alone hold actual tryouts. “I dunno why the team's this popular all of a sudden.”

“Oh, come on, Harry,” Hermione scoffed, “it's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable.”

Hermione smirked at Ron as she said the last bit, and he choked on a mouthful of kipper. Sometimes, he wished she would just bugger off. It wasn't half as funny as she seemed to think it was, and if she didn't rein it in, Harry would catch on.

“Everyone knows you've been telling the truth, now, don't they? And they're calling you the 'Chosen One'. You can still see the marks on the back of your hand where that evil woman made you write in your own blood, but you stuck to your story anyway... Can't you see why people are fascinated by you?”

Hermione made him sound so _heroic_. And he was. Ron had seen first hand how brave Harry was. But he was so much more than just 'the Chosen One', and it made his blood boil that people thought they fancied Harry just because of a handful of rumours and a couple of half-true newspaper articles.

“You can still see where those brains got hold of me in the Ministry, look.” He couldn't understand why Hermione was buying into the media crap; he'd always been 'just Harry' to them, and they'd been right at his side through most of the things the public were fawning over him for.

Hermione ignored him. “And,” she continued to Harry, “it doesn't hurt that you've grown about a foot over the summer, either.”

Ron rolled his eyes. A foot? Now she was just being ridiculous. Harry was, at best, five foot six. He'd maybe grown a couple inches over the summer, but compared to Ron, who had shot up five inches to six foot two, he was still tiny. In fact, he barely had an inch on Hermione in height, and she certainly wasn't tall. Did _Hermione_ fancy Harry? Was that why she'd been so weird when she thought Ron might fancy him? Was that why she'd been giving Ron the cold shoulder for nearly two months?

Girls really were another species, Ron decided. Who on earth had time to figure them out?

When they got up to go down the the Quidditch pitch, Lavender looked up from her breakfast to catch his eye and smile. Ron smiled back, thanking Godric and Merlin that at least one girl in his life was straightforward.

*~*~*~*

_(p.281, Half-Blood Prince)_

Quidditch was brilliant. Lessons were tolerable. Things were moving in the right direction with Lavender. But between The Slug Club and the Half Blood Prince, the tension between him and Hermione seemed to grow by the day. Hermione was even being distant with Harry, which was almost unheard of; she hadn't been in a mood with him for  _ years _ .

“Anyway,” Hermione was saying during Herbology, “Slughorn's going to have a Christmas party, Harry, and there's no way you'll be able to wriggle out of this one because he actually asked me to check your free evenings.”

For all that Hermione seemed  _ furious _ with Harry whenever he mentioned the Prince, she was perfectly happy to suck up to him and talk as if Ron didn't exist the rest of the time. “And this is another party just for Slughorn's favourites, is it?” he asked, just to remind them that he was, in fact, still there.

Hermione didn't even look at him. “Just for the Slug Club, yes,” she muttered, dismissively, before turning her attention back to Harry.

“Slug Club,” Ron spat. Honestly, what a ridiculous name. “Well, I hope you enjoy your party. Why don't you try hooking up with McLaggen, then Slughorn can make you King and Queen Slug.”

Suddenly, Hermione seemed to remember his existence. “We're allowed to bring guests,” she snapped. “And I was going to ask you to come, but if you think it's that stupid then I won't bother!”

Ron thought she was probably just saying that to make him feel guilty. After all, she'd hardly spoken to him all year, even on Prefect patrols. But he missed his best friend, and if she  _ was _ going to ask him... “You were going to ask me?”

“Yes,” she snapped, “but, obviously, if you'd rather I  _ hooked up with McLaggen _ ...”

Ron was a bit baffled. He hated McLaggen, obviously, because he was a total prat. But he didn't understand why Hermione seemed to think she needed to choose between them. He didn't understand what Hermione saw in him at all, actually, but if that's the kind of guy she was interested in, who was he to judge? It was a damn sight better than her fancying Harry.

“No,” he said eventually, “I wouldn't.” He'd much rather them go as friends than see his best friend taken advantage of by that tosser.

Whatever Hermione had meant by her outburst, he'd obviously given the right answer, because she warmed up to him quite considerably after that.

*~*~*~*

_(p.286, Half-Blood Prince)_

Ron had been wrong when he'd said Quidditch was brilliant. Quidditch was _awful_. Harry was now not only his best mate and teammate, but also his Captain – the amount of pressure he felt to make him proud had reached new heights that made him almost sick with nerves. Add to that the fact that Lavender was sitting in the stands, flinching every time he missed, and he was almost ready to hurl. Once he considered the fact that everyone in Gryffindor thought he'd gotten in by being Harry's friend alone, and that he'd have to practically Polyjuice Oliver Wood and Imperius him to win the game for him just to meet the standard necessary to prove himself... By the time practice finished, he was ready to hand in his robes and burn his broom.

Harry summarily refused his resignation, and kept up a steady stream of encouragements all the way back to the common room. By the time they reached the shortcut to Gryffindor Tower, Ron was feeling considerably better about his chances at winning the first match of the season. In fact, he was feeling more cheerful in general.

Until they came face to face with his sister. Who appeared to have lost her tongue down Dean Thomas' throat.

“Oi!”

The couple leaped apart and blinked at him in shock.

Well, Dean did. Ginny was glaring at him mutinously.

“What?” she snapped.

“I don't want my sister snogging people in public!” Though maybe if she did it enough, Mum would get wind of it. She would forget all about him and Harry sharing a dorm if she heard that her youngest was getting hot and heavy with older boys in dark corridors.

“This was a deserted corridor until you came butting in,” Ginny retorted without a hint of shame.

Dean had the decency to look slightly embarrassed, but Ron felt ratified in his reaction when Harry stonily refused to return the tentative smile Dean shot him.

“Er... c'mon, Ginny. Let's go back to the common room.”

“You go,” she said, icily, “I want a word with my dear brother.”

Dean glanced at Ron in what almost looked like an apology before scurrying away like the lying little rat that he was.

“Right,” Ginny said, nastily, with a silly toss of her head. “Let's get this straight once and for all. It is none of your business who I go out with or what I do with them, Ron – ”

None of his – “Yeah, it is!” Ron could feel his hands trembling. Why were all the women in his life losing their minds this year? First, his mum banning him from being alone with Harry. Then, Hermione blowing hot and cold like you wouldn't believe. Now, his little sister, of all people, behaving with absolutely no decorum whatsoever with _Dean_ of all people! “D'you think I want people saying my sister's a – ”

“A what?” Ginny screamed, as she whipped her wand out of her pocket and waved it dangerously. “A _what_ , exactly?”

“He doesn't mean anything, Ginny,” Harry said, weakly, from beside Ron. If Ron hadn't been so focused on the wand in his face, he'd have turned to glare at Harry. Two seconds ago, he had been on his side!

“Just because _he's_ never snogged anyone in his life, just because the best kiss _he's_ ever had is from our Auntie Muriel – ”

That little cow! Ever since she overheard that conversation in the summer, she'd been out to humiliate him in front of Harry. Every pick up Quidditch match became a game of one-upmanship. Every mealtime was a chance to tell the most embarrassing childhood stories she could come up with. And now _this_.

“Shut your mouth!”

“No, I will not!” Ginny screamed back, and Ron was sure their faces would be matching shades of maroon if he were to look in a mirror. “I've seen you with Phlegm, hoping she'll kiss you on the cheek every time you see her. If you went out and got a bit of snogging done, you wouldn't mind so much that everyone else does it!”

Ron bristled at the comment about Fleur. He _liked_ his future sister-in-law and couldn't for the life of him understand why his mum and Ginny didn't. And Fleur knew perfectly well the affect Veela hormones had on un-Matched teenage boys; she paid no attention to it, and he was grateful for that.

“You don't know what you're talking about.”

Harry was now standing between them, being a damn near useless bodyguard, given that he was shorter than the both of them, so they were simply yelling at one another over the top of his head.

“Just because I don't do it in public – ” Ron cut off awkwardly, realising what he'd said. He hoped Harry would write it off as angry ranting and never ask about it, because he had no intention of admitting to the fact that he'd kissed Dean, thank you very much.

“Been kissing Pigwidgeon, have you?” Ginny mocked. “Or have you got a picture of Auntie Muriel stashed under your pillow?”

Ron launched himself forward and let loose a hex, but it missed her by mere inches when Harry spun around and slammed him up against the wall. Harry was shorter and slighter than Ron by miles, and he could've escaped in a heartbeat but, honestly, he found he didn't much want to. Briefly, the image of he and Harry in the same position as they'd found Ginny and Dean flickered through his mind.

“Harry's snogged Cho Chang!”

The image in his head was replaced by one of Harry with Cho, instead of him, and his blood boiled.

“And Hermione snogged Victor Krum! It's only you who acts like it's something disgusting, Ron, and that's because you've got about as much experience as a twelve-year-old!”

The minute Ginny stormed around the corner out of sight, Harry leaped backwards away from him as if he were contaminated.

“C'mon,” Harry said, and Ron followed him blindly, his mind swirling with images of Ginny kissing Dean kissing him kissing Harry kissing Cho until he felt sick.

*~*~*~*

_(p.292, Half-Blood Prince)_

Ron couldn't understand why Harry wouldn't just let him quit the team. Even having no Keeper would be better and less embarrassing than letting him play. Several times, he considered throwing himself down the dormitory steps so that he would be too injured to play. He had been so bad that after the last practice, even Harry had lost his patience. He'd been angry and frustrated and disappointed and that just made everything a hundred times worse. He hated letting himself down. He hated letting Gryffindor down, especially against Slytherin. But he couldn't tolerate the all-encompassing shame that accompanied knowing he'd let Harry down.

“Cheer up, Ron,” Lavender said sweetly as he passed. “I know you'll be brilliant!”

He couldn't even bring himself to acknowledge her.

“Tea?” Harry asked, tentatively. “Coffee? Pumpkin juice?”

Ron could not, however, ignore Harry. Not when he was about to let him down so spectacularly that he'd probably never speak to him again.

“Anything.”

“How are you both feeling?”

Harry, who still appeared to be concentrating on pouring him a pumpkin juice, barely glanced up at Hermione. “Fine,” he said, flippantly, as if he played Quidditch matches against Slytherin every day. Which, Ron supposed, Harry could do with no problem at all. It was Ron who was the problem here.

“There you go, Ron,” Harry said, handing over a cup. “Drink up.”

“Don't drink that, Ron!”

They both turned to stare at her as if she'd gone barmy.

“Why not?”

Hermione was glaring accusingly at Harry. “You put something in his drink.”

Ron looked from his cup, to Harry, to Hermione, and back at his cup. What the bloody hell was going on?

“I saw you! You just tipped something into Ron's drink!”

Harry shrugged, but Ron knew all his tells. He was a terrible liar and right now his face was 'carefully blank'. He was lying through his teeth. “I don't know what you're talking about.” But as he said it, Ron saw him try to slip something back into his robes.

Hermione spun to face Ron. “I'm warning you, don't drink it!”

Even when Harry was clearly lying, he'd trust Harry to do right by him any day of the week. It was probably some brilliant potion of the Prince's that would... make his reflexes sharper, or something. Ron picked up the glass and downed the whole thing in one go. “Stop bossing me around, Hermione,” he snapped, somewhat unnecessarily.

He was in the changing rooms getting ready for the match before he realised what Harry had put in his drink.

“I... you... My drink! My pumpkin juice. You didn't...!” Harry had used his Felix Felicis. Ron didn't know if he was thrilled to have the help, or angry that Harry thought he needed it. But given how badly he'd been playing, he figured it was only fair of Harry to think that. Ron felt like he was walking on air. With Malfoy out injured and Felix on his side, there was no way Gryffindor could lose!

He saved goal after goal. No matter what formation or manoeuvre the Slytherin Chasers tried, or how many times the Beaters aimed Bludgers at him, nothing got past him. Zacharias Smith's commentary was a bit irritating, but Ron paid him no mind – nothing could touch him today. He felt invincible.

The game lasted fifty-seven minutes and twenty-three seconds, and ended with a score of 310-nil to Gryffindor after Harry made a spectacular capture of the Snitch from right under Harper's nose.

“Party up in the common room!” Dean yelled as the team were cheered into the changing rooms. The whole team whooped, and Ginny, Demelza, Coote, and Peakes followed him out, still singing and cheering.

Ron hung back when Harry did; Harry gave him a rough hug and a pat on the back. “Knew you could do it, mate!”

Ron hugged him back, feeling beyond elated that not only had he led Gryffindor to the biggest win against Slytherin in years, he'd also done Harry proud.

All thanks to Felix.

Except it wasn't.

Because Hermione stormed into the changing rooms to accuse Harry of cheating, and he pulled the tiny, golden bottle out of his robes, and it was still sealed shut. Harry had never put anything in his pumpkin juice.

He'd done it all by himself. He'd secured a goal margin not even Oliver Wood had achieved _without any help_.

Harry was proud of him. Hermione just looked incredulous, as if it was beyond her ability to believe that he could actually play that well all by himself.

Suddenly angry, he shoved past her and stormed out of the changing rooms. There was a whole common room of people waiting who _did_ believe in his Keeping abilities, so sod Hermione.

He stormed into the common room, still annoyed by Hermione's reaction, and was met by a wall of screaming, cheering housemates. _Forget Hermione_ , he thought, grinning, _this was bloody brilliant!_ He stepped further in, grinning around at everyone singing “Weasley is Our King”, and caught sight of Lavender, who appeared to be wearing a t-shirt with a huge gold crown and his name on.

“I knew you'd be great!” she squealed, throwing herself into his arms. If she noticed that he staggered a bit, she didn't say anything. “C'mon, Ron,” she whispered in his ear, “just kiss me. You know you want to.”

And he did. She was the only one who'd always thought he was great. Even when his two best friends doubted him.

So he dipped his head to hers and kissed her in front of the whole common room.

It was a bit wet, in all honesty, and not nearly as nice as kissing Dean had been, but Lavender was very enthusiastic and, anyway, there was plenty of time to work on technique. He decided a good snog in one of the chairs in the corner of the common room was an ideal way to celebrate his victory – if Ginny could do it, why couldn't he.

Eventually, though, Lavender asked if they could go somewhere less crowded, so they slipped out to find an abandoned classroom.

Unfortunately, the first one they found was occupied. By Harry and Hermione.

Oh, well... Good for them, he supposed, as he ignored the horrible, tight burning in his chest. He had Lavender and they could do as they damn well pleased. They could have a great time together, doubting him and arguing over the Half-Blood Prince's identity.

He felt a perverse urge to force himself between them and remind them that he still existed. “Hi, Harry! Wondered where you'd go to!”

Harry couldn't meet his eyes. Hopefully, he felt ashamed of himself.

“You shouldn't leave Lavender waiting outside,” Hermione said, coldly. “She'll wonder where you've gone.”

Then, suddenly, a whole flock of tiny, angry birds were attacking him, their sharp beaks digging into his skin and drawing blood. Ron felt hot tears sting his eyes. How _dare_ she. How _dare_ she go behind his back like this! She had Viktor. What the hell did she need to steal Harry for?

When Ron finally escaped the birds, slamming the door behind him, he made his excuses to Lavender and went straight up to the dorm. He yanked his curtains closed around his bed, threw up a _Muffliato_ , and sobbed himself to sleep.

*~*~*~*

_(p.312, Half-Blood Prince)_

It was the evening of Slughorn's party, and Ron was planning on making the most of Ginny, Harry, _and_ Hermione being out of the way for the evening. Though he'd assumed, after what he'd seen after the Quidditch match, that Harry and Hermione were _involved_ , so he'd been surprised to hear – from Peeves, of all people – that Harry was, in fact, going with Loony Lovegood. She didn't really seem his type; she was nice enough, but a bit odd, and Harry needed someone with a bit more substance to them. Begrudgingly, he admitted that Hermione might fit the bill, though he still didn't like the thought of them together, and no one would be good enough for Harry, not even her.

“I still don't know why you're taking her,” Ron said around a mouthful of chicken. “You could have taken anyone. _Anyone_! And you chose Loony Lovegood?”

“Don't call her that, Ron,” Ginny snapped. She was still angry with him about the whole Dean situation, and had hit him no less than five times with Bat-Bogeys over the last few days. “I'm really glad you're taking her, Harry, she's so excited.”

Harry looked a bit shocked that Ginny had said so, though for the life of him, Ron couldn't figure out why. He supposed it was a bit odd to date your best mate's little sister's best friend, but Harry had been friends with her, too, since they started the DA last year. Maybe that's all it was. Maybe he'd had a falling out with Hermione and asked Luna as a friend. But if that had been the case, why hadn't he asked Ron?

“You could say sorry,” Harry whispered, and Ron realised that while he was thinking, his gaze had drifted over to where Hermione was sitting alone.

“What, and get attacked by another flock of canaries?”

Lavender came bounding over to the table and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Hi, Ron!” She squeezed in between Harry and Ron and pressed a sloppy kiss to his lips. “How's my favourite Keeper?”

Ron smiled and kissed her back, reaching over to get her a plate and fill it with food.

“Hi Hermione!” Parvati said, loudly, from beside Harry.

Ron was shocked when Hermione practically beamed at her. “Hi, Parvati! Are you going to Slughorn's party tonight?”

“No invite. You're going though, aren't you?”

“Yes, I'm meeting Cormac at eight.”

Ron pulled away from Lavender. _Cormac_? She'd dumped Harry for _Cormac_?!

“Cormac?” Parvati was squealing. “Cormac McLaggen?”

Ron had turned fully to face them, now, completely dumbfounded by the whole conversation.

“That's right, the one who almost became Gryffindor Keeper.” What on earth was she bringing that up for?

“Are you going out with him then?”

Hermione giggled. “Oh, yes! Didn't you know?”

Ron bristled. She'd been with Harry not two weeks ago! How dare she giggle like that and flaunt Cormac in front of him!

“Wow, you like your Quidditch players, don't you? First Krum, now McLaggen.”

“I like _really good_ Quidditch players,” she said, nastily, though her smile never faltered. Ron's knuckles cracked from how hard he was clenching them. How _dare_ she! Harry was the best Quidditch player Hogwarts had ever seen! He was probably better than Krum, even! And yet she'd thrown him over for a second-rate Keeper like McLaggen and was now bragging about only dating the good ones!

Blood boiling, he turned back to Lavender with what he hoped was a blank expression on his face and let her prattle on about her plans for Christmas and what her tea leaves had told her was in store for the new year. Once again, he was grateful for having at least one straightforward woman in his life. Godric knows he wouldn't have coped if Lavender had been anything like Hermione.

He and Lavender snogged a bit in the common room but it wasn't even nine o'clock when Ron pretended to be too tired to do any more and retreated to the dorm alone. He pulled the curtains shut and spent an hour staring at the Mark on his arm; something he'd purposefully avoided doing since the summer. Like usual, it was too generic to indicate in any way who the person might be, and Ron eventually found himself becoming too frustrated to look any longer. He pulled his sleeve back down, punched his pillow a few times, and lay down to fall into a fitful sleep.

Even in his dreams, his Mark followed him, and he dreamed of growing older and older, always having useless words like “friends”, “Quidditch”, and “Hogwarts” written on his skin. In his dreams, he was wrinkling and shrinking and going grey, and he was never able to find the person whom his Mark referred to.

*~*~*~*

The news that he was dating Lavender had gotten back to his mum, and when they arrived at the Burrow for Christmas, Harry's bed was back in Ron's room where it belonged. Which was good, as the Burrow ended up a fair bit fuller than it had been in years – Bill was there with Fleur, and Lupin came to stay, adding up to a total of ten people squeezed into the tiny house.

Having Harry in such close quarters after being somewhat distant during school was more difficult for Ron than it rightly should have been, especially as he had a girlfriend.

Mornings were managed by dashing out of the bedroom before Harry could get his glasses on; thank Merlin for his poor eyesight. Cold showers were happening at least twice a day, and Ron was sure Ginny had noticed, because she was giving him odd looks every time she passed him in the corridor. Once, she had even been waiting right outside the bathroom when he, ah, _finished_ and loudly remarked that “one shower a day is enough for most people”. After that, he'd been careful to throw up a _Muffliato_ and to be as discreet as possible about needing more than one. Mum was being a nightmare, though. After the summer, where she never let them be alone together for even a minute, she was now throwing them together every second of every day.

“Ron, Harry dear, please could you wash the dishes.”

“Ron, Harry dear, would you mind setting the table?”

“Ron, Harry dear, could you fetch the presents and pop them under the tree?”

“Ron, Harry dear, if you would just peel these sprouts for me.”

The list of things his mum could find for them to do alone, together, and usually in close proximity was never-ending, and Ron was slowly losing his mind. If Hermione had been here, he'd have been hearing 'I-told-you-so' enough times to push him over the edge into actual insanity. As it was, he was only hearing it from Harry with regards to his never-ending conviction that “Malfoy's up to something”. Though, in fairness to him, it really did seem like Malfoy _was_ up to something this time.

On Christmas morning, Ron didn't need a cold shower. He had something altogether more disturbing to deal with his apparently uncontrollable reaction to Harry's presence.

His Christmas gift from Lavender.

It was an awful, thick, gold necklace to which the words “My Sweetheart” were attached, also in gold.

Harry thought it was hilarious, the prat.

Even when he got a package of maggots from Kreacher, they still agreed that Ron's gift was worse. Though when the Minister himself turned up and forced Harry to go for 'a walk in the garden', Ron almost thought the scales had tipped in his favour... until he realised that it meant he would have to spend that time with Percy. In all, it was a somewhat disappointing and uncomfortable Christmas for both of them.

*~*~*~*

_(p.391, Half-Blood Prince)_

Coming of age was somewhat less exciting than Ron had thought it might be. His mum and dad had gotten him a really nice, new watch, and Harry had gotten him some wicked broom and Quidditch bits that he couldn't wait to use. But first, since it was his birthday, he was going to eat his was through a box of Chocolate Cauldrons someone had gotten him.

By the third Cauldron, he was feeling much happier and lighter than he usually did that early in the morning, but it was his _birthday –_ his seventeenth, at that – so of course he was in a brilliant mood. By the fifth, he was feeling... odd. Almost anxious, but a weird kind of happy-anxious that made no sense whatsoever. Maybe he was just worried about his Apparition test later in the day; if he failed it, Fred and George would bully him about it forever. By the eighth chocolate, though, something was decidedly wrong.

“Ron? Breakfast?”

Ron looked up, ready for the usual little flush of excitement that tingled through him when he looked at Harry. He felt nothing.

“I'm not hungry.”

Harry stared at him, understandably surprised, and Ron took the time to _really_ look at him. His bright, captivating green eyes, surrounded by the darkest, longest lashes Ron had ever seen on a boy. His pink cheeks, so much softer and rounder after several months of Hogwarts' food. His messy, black curls that Ron always wanted to run his hands through. Even his lips, delicate, soft, and always so enticing.

Ron felt nothing. Nothing about any of it.

“I'll come down with you,” he said, as dread began to curl in his chest, “but I don't want to eat.”

“You've just eaten half a box of Chocolate Cauldrons,” Harry accused.

“It's not that. It's just... You wouldn't understand.” He could hardly say _'Harry something's wrong, I just checked you out, but look! No boner'_ – Harry would never speak to him again if he said that.

It was at that moment that a sudden, terrifying urge seized him.

“Harry!”

“What?”

“I can't stand it!”

“Can't stand what?” Harry asked, looking rather alarmed.

“I can't stop thinking about her.” And it was true. He couldn't. He just didn't know _why_.

“Why does that stop you having breakfast?”

Completely fair question, Ron thought.

“I don't think she knows I exist.” For no reason whatsoever, Ron was consumed with anxiety by this thought.

“Who are you talking about?”

Ron could picture her, see her walking down the corridor, or sitting in the common room with her friends. Tall. Curvy. Long, dark hair. Dark, brown eyes. “Romilda Vane.”

Harry looked appalled. “This is a joke, right?”

Ron shook his head. It certainly didn't feel like a joke. He was in love with Romilda Vane. “I think... Harry, I think I love her!”

Harry did not look convinced, and Ron was filled with an anger that definitely wasn't his, but it felt like his, and he couldn't not act on it. He launched himself at Harry. “How dare you! You insult her! You think she's a joke!”

Harry blocked Ron's blows as best he could. “What's gotten into – ?” Suddenly, he froze. “Ron,” he said, calmly, as if he were talking to one of Hagrid's creatures, “where did you get those Chocolate Cauldrons?”

“They were a birthday present. Found 'em on the floor.”

“They weren't. They were mine. They must've fallen out of my trunk when I was looking for the Map. Romilda gave me them for Christmas. They've been spiked with a Love Potion.” Harry was talking very slowly, as if to a child, but Ron could hear him just fine.

“Harry, did you say Romilda? Do you know her? Can you introduce me?”

“Yeah, I can introduce you.”

Harry was the most wonderful friend in the whole wide world. When he married Romilda, Harry would be his best man.

“She'll be in Slughorn's office,” Harry was saying. “She has extra Potions lessons with him.”

Lavender tried to wish him a happy birthday as they passed through the common room, but Ron was too busy to stop. He needed to meet Romilda.

But Romilda was not in Slughorn's office, and Slughorn was still in his pyjamas. Maybe Harry had gotten the time wrong.

Slughorn, good man that he was, offered him a tonic for his nerves, and he drank it eagerly. It wouldn't do to embarrass himself in front of Romilda. Not when he was in love with her.

Suddenly, he felt very, very cold and he looked up at Harry in horror. What the bloody hell had happened?

“Back to normal, then?” Harry asked, and he was grinning. Ron felt relief wash though him; no matter what happened, Harry had his back. Lavender, though, would be furious when he finally found her. He'd have to pull out all the stops to make it up to her, or she'd likely give him the cold shoulder for days.

“Now,” said Slughorn jovially, “What Mr Weasley needs is a pick me up! Why don't we open a nice bottle of mead to celebrate his birthday! Nothing like a fine spirit to chase away the pangs of disappointed love.”

Having had half a box of drugged Chocolate Cauldrons already that morning, Ron didn't feel much like drinking alcohol at all, but it would've been rude to refuse the glass Slughorn had poured and was shoving enthusiastically into his still-shaking hands.

So he half-listened to Slughorn's awful toast, and threw back the mead as quickly as possible so as not to give himself the chance to throw it back up.

*~*~*~*

It was rather disconcerting, Ron found, to wake up in the brightly-lit hospital wing with sobbing parents on one side, and a stricken-looking Hermione and Harry on the other.

“What happened?” he asked, pulling himself up to sit against the pillow.

He didn't feel ill. He wasn't in any pain. He didn't even feel groggy; in fact, he felt quite well-rested. The only problem, aside from feeling oddly detached from everything, was that he had no idea at all how he got there. At his question, his mother let out a loud sob, and Harry's face went white.

“Well,” Hermione said, quietly, “Slughorn gave you a bit of poisoned mead.”

“What the bloody hell'd he do that for?” There were some teachers – Snape, for example, or possibly Trelawney – that Ron would expect to slip poison to a student. Slughorn was not one of them.

“I don't think he did it on purpose,” Hermione said, reproachfully. “He'd bought the bottle as a Christmas gift for Dumbledore. He didn't know it was poisoned.”

Harry was, as usual, convinced that Malfoy was somehow involved.

His mum and dad seemed to think the whole thing was just a terrible accident – though Ron wasn't sure if his dad really believed that or was just trying to convince his mum – and spent the whole day fussing over him. He found it a bit disconcerting to look at his parents and feel nothing at all, and he was glad when they left. Finally, Harry left, too, and he and Hermione were alone.

“I'm sorry,” they said at the same time.

Hermione smiled sadly. “I'm not really dating McLaggen, you know,” she admitted, looking ashamed.

“Thank Merlin for that.”

“You are dating Lavender, though?”

Ron thought the amount of public snogging they'd done rather answered that question, but confirmed it anyway. Hermione looked a bit disappointed to hear that.

“What about Harry?”

Hermione stared at him blankly. “Harry?”

“Yes. Short, dark hair, scar on his forehead. Otherwise known as our best friend?”

“Harry's not dating anyone, as far as I know.”

“Well, he was dating you, until you threw him over for McLaggen.”

Her mouth dropped open. “He was _what_?”

Ron wanted to be angry at her for playing stupid, but the numbness persisted, so all he could manage was a very flat, “dating you. I saw you after the Quidditch match, remember?”

Hermione still looked nonplussed, so Ron continued, “together, alone, abandoned classroom? Ring any bells?”

Slowly, realisation dawned on Hermione's face, followed closely by amused disbelief. “We were in there avoiding _you_ , you absolute prat! We're not _dating_!”

Ron didn't really believe her, but he asked Harry about it later and Harry said the same thing, so either they really weren't dating, or they were both lying to him.

After that, he pretended to be asleep a lot, though he always 'woke up' when Harry came alone, no matter how upset he had started to feel over the fact that his best friends might be seeing one another behind his back.

A week after his birthday and subsequent poisoning, something happened that Ron hadn't felt in nearly a year. A tight wave of pain through his chest, followed by dizziness and nausea. The monitoring spells went off around him, and Madame Pomfrey came rushing out holding an empty bowl and brandishing her wand.

Ten minutes later, Harry was stretchered into the hospital wing with a cracked skull.

He couldn't ignore it any more. No matter what Hermione said, this wasn't just “anxiety”. Tentatively, he pushed up his left sleeve.

Hands shaking, he pushed the sleeve back into place. For the first time all week, he was grateful that the stupid love potion had temporarily dampened his emotions.

His mark said _QUIDDITCH_.

It wasn't concrete proof, but it was close enough.

How had he missed it all this time? “A Quidditch-obsessed wizard with an awful home life”, he'd once summed it up as. Who else could it be?

Harry was his soulmate.

*~*~*~*

It was the last Quidditch match of the season, and Harry was in detention with Snape. They'd been practising every night for a week with Ginny as Seeker, but she just wasn't quite up to Harry's standard of brilliance. Failure wasn't an option, though. Ron _would_ secure a win for Harry. He would block every single goal. He would catch the damn Snitch himself if he had to. He would not let Harry down. Not when his Mark had said nothing but “Quidditch” for weeks.

At least this time, he wouldn't have the pressure of Lavender watching. She'd not spoken a word to him since they'd broken up, and Ron couldn't quite bring himself to be upset over that fact.

“Come on, guys,” Ron said in the changing rooms. “Us versus Ravenclaw. We need to win this match by two hundred points to win the cup.”

Ginny was grinning back at him, but the rest of the team looked despondent.

“Without Harry, what's the point?” Coote muttered, and Ginny shot him a poisonous look. Shoving Ron out of the way, she stepped up onto a bench and whistled.

“ _OI_!”

The room fell silent.

“Now, I'm not Harry. But I am better than Cho and I _will_ catch the Snitch. I beat her last year, and I can do the same this year. What you need to do is work as a team. Demelza, you know all the formations, you're in charge of the Chasers. Do whatever it takes to score and do _not_ let the Ravenclaws get possession of the Quaffle. Peakes, Coote, you have turned into damn fine Beaters. Do your job, keep the Bludgers away from the rest of us, and we'll be fine. Ron, you kicked ass against Slytherin. Do the same today or so help me, I will kill you in your sleep. Now, one, two, three – ”

“ _GRYFFINDOR_!”

_(p.533, Half-Blood Prince)_

Ron stayed by the portrait hole, waiting for Harry to get back from his detention with Snape. He wanted to be the one to tell him.

“We won!” he roared, as Harry stepped through the portrait hole, and his whole face lit up in a grin. Ron held the cup out for Harry to see, waving it madly in his excitement. “We won! Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!”

A streak of red shot past him as Ginny ran towards Harry... and kissed him.

The cup slipped through Ron's fingers but was neatly caught by Hermione before it could hit the ground. He wanted to look away, but found he couldn't.

When they finally pulled apart, Harry's eyes sought out Ron. His expression was questioning, almost pleading, and Ron realised, distantly, that Harry must think he was upset because that was his sister. He quickly rearranged his expression into something more neutral and gave a sharp jerk of his head. If Ginny would make Harry happy, he wouldn't stand in his way. At least this way, he could keep him close.

*~*~*~*

_(p.552, Half-Blood Prince)_

Harry had gone off for one of his private meetings with Dumbledore when the feeling swept over him for the second time that year. It didn't hit him as suddenly as it had in the hospital wing; instead, the nausea crept out from his chest like Devil's Snare, slowly and insidiously moving to constrict around his chest and stomach.

Hermione noticed almost immediately. “Ron, what – ”

Harry burst through the portrait hole looking distressed, but flew right past them and up to the dormitory. When he ran back down seconds later, he paused.

“Look, I've got to be quick. Dumbledore thinks I'm getting my Cloak. Listen, Dumbledore thinks he's found one. We're going there tonight, just me and him. The school will be left undefended. Do you see what this means? Malfoy's going to have a clear shot at whatever he's been up to!” He shoved the Marauder's Map into Hermione's hands and an old sock into Ron's. “You've got to watch him, and Snape, too. Use those Galleons from the DA, Hermione, and contact anyone you can.”

“Harry – ”

“I haven't got time to argue.”

“Er,” Ron said, holding the socks, “why do I need socks?”

“You need what's wrapped in them. It's the Felix. Share it between yourselves, and Ginny, too. Say goodbye to her for me.”

Ron's heart gave an odd lurch at that. 'Say goodbye' sounded so horribly final that, paired with the awful feeling in his chest, he had to swallow back bile. Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

“I'd better go, Dumbledore's waiting. I'll see you later.”

And with that, he pulled the cloak around himself and disappeared. The portrait hole opened and closed a moment later, and Harry was gone.

Ron took one look at the bottle he was holding and vomited onto the rug.

Harry would need this more than he ever could, and yet here he was holding it while his _soulmate_ went out to Godric-knew-where to destroy part of You-Know-Who's soul.

Hermione rubbed his back in slow circles, but her hand was shaking. She, like Ron, knew how much was at risk tonight.

As the night wore on, Ron was no help at all. He didn't take any Felix, because he knew he'd vomit it right back up. Instead, he lay on the cool tile of the boys' dormitory bathroom and kept an eye on the map while Hermione gathered DA members. So far, Neville, Luna, and Ginny had all agreed to keep an eye out for anything odd.

“Hermione!” Ron yelled, “Malfoy's gone up to the seventh floor! He's in the Room of Requirement.”

He hauled himself off the floor and staggered into the dorm. “Someone needs to wait outside for when he comes back out.” Just like Quidditch, the adrenaline of _doing something_ was enough to keep the nausea at bay. “I'll go.”

Hermione looked at him dubiously, but agreed. “Take Ginny and Neville with you, and come _right back_ if you feel sick again.”

An hour later, the door they were watching creaked open, and Malfoy's pale, pointy face peered out. Harry had the Cloak, so there was nowhere to hide. Malfoy saw them immediately, and everything around them went black.

They cast _Lumos_ but all it did was illuminate the particles of powder swirling around them. A few feet to their left, they could hear footsteps running past; it wasn't just Malfoy coming out of that room, and the steps sounded heavy, more like adults than children.

_Death Eaters_ , Ron realised as panic built in his chest.

Malfoy had found a way to let Death Eaters into Hogwarts.

When the powder cleared, there was no sign of any of them.

“Quick,” Ginny said, taking charge as easily as she did on the pitch, “follow me. Tonks is here patrolling.” She was right; they needed to alert the Order. The three of them would be useless against all the Death Eaters they'd heard leaving the room.

As they ran, Ron pulled the map out of his pocket and began to search for Malfoy.

“Tonks!” Ginny screamed as the Auror came into view in the entrance hall. “Tonks, Lupin, help!”

Ron barrelled towards them, Map held out.

“They're going towards the Astronomy Tower,” he gasped.

The Map showed Malfoy leading several names he recognised from Wanted posters.

After that, all hell broke loose.

Death Eaters and Order members alike seemed to appear from all sides, shooting hexes and throwing up shields. Ron had never regretted passing up that Felix more than he did in the moment he found himself face-to-face with a masked man twice his size. But instead of aiming for Ron, he pointed his wand at the ceiling. It collapsed, and Ron didn't have time to move out of the way.

He awoke in the hospital room for the second time that year, though this time in considerably more pain. Neville was on a bed to one side of him, sitting up and looking mostly unharmed. On the other side, though, was a heavily bandaged man with red hair.

“Your brother, Bill,” Neville said, sadly. “Greyback got him.”

Ron felt his stomach drop into his feet. _No! Not Bill. Please, not Bill._

Madame Pomfrey bustled over, expression as set and determined as it ever was, blocking his brother from view. “He'll live, Weasley, and so will you. Up you get, I'll be needing that bed for another patient, no doubt. Fighting and Death Eaters in the school!”

Then she swept over to Neville and forced a few nasty-looking potions down his throat. “You, on the other hand, Mr Longbottom, need to rest.”

As Ron got out of the bed, people began to pour in. Lupin. Tonks. Luna. Hermione. All looking more than a little worse for wear, but _alive_.

But there were two people noticeably absent.

“Where's Ginny?” he asked, sharply, eyeing the crowd, “and Harry?”

“Coming,” Tonks said quietly, but her bleak tone and broken expression filled Ron with dread.

_(p.613, Half-Blood Prince)_

They arrived, hand in hand, a few moments later. Harry's face was pale and tear-streaked, and Ron fought the urge to go to him. Now was not the time. He was alive. He was safe. That was all that mattered.

Hermione did not temper her urges, almost flying over to Harry and pulling him into a bone-crushing hug that he did not return. Lupin stepped forward just as quickly, but paused, hovering awkwardly a few feet away. “Are you alright, Harry?”

“I'm fine,” Harry said, in a horribly dead, empty voice, and Ron flinched. “How's Bill?”

As the night wore on, more people trickled in to the hospital wing. McGonagall, her robes torn and her face grazed. His parents, looking completely distraught. Fleur, looking about as sick as Ron had felt earlier in the night. But she didn't let it stop her, and Ron was once again filled with admiration for the strength of the woman his brother was marrying. The Fates may have made a mistake with his Mark, but they'd gotten Bill's exactly right, and Ron was grateful for that. If what Lupin and Madame Pomfrey believed about his condition was true, he'd need Fleur now more than ever.

But then came the final blow of the evening.

Dumbledore was dead.

Snape had killed him.

Harry had been right all along.


	7. Ronald Weasley and the Worst Year (Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ron's POV of the first half of Deathly Hallows (split roughly in half based on the page numbers of the original book).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to every single one of you who has left comments and kudos. You are all amazing and you give me so much motivation and encouragement to keep writing this.  
> I already have endgame pairings in my head but if there's any couple(s) you really want to see, leave a comment! If I can't fit a requested pairing into this universe, I will endeavour to write you your very own one-shot.

**SEVENTH YEAR**

**JULY 1997**

The mood at the Burrow was both sombre and anxious when they returned home for the summer. Everyone wanted to stop, to pause and mourn, but there was a wedding in just three weeks. Fleur was too busy caring for Bill to do much of the preparation, so Mum had flown into a panic, screaming orders at any one within ear-shot, even visiting Order members.

The Order were another problem. In and out of the Burrow at all hours, filling up the kitchen, having secret meetings, trying to carry on despite the betrayal of a key member and the death of their leader. It was ramshackle at best, and Ron could feel his confidence in them slipping by the day.

“Weasley,” Mad-Eye barked, and five heads turned to look at him. “You,” he said, jabbing a gnarled finger at Ron, “come with me.”

He limped back into the kitchen and Ron trailed behind curiously.

After locking the door and throwing up more wards than probably even Hogwarts had, the paranoid old coot, Mad-Eye finally turned to face him. “D'ya wanna join or not?”

“Yes.” Ramshackle or not. Without a leader or not. Ron wanted in.

“Good. Next Saturday night, we're fetchin' Potter.”

Ron didn't even hesitate. “I'm in.”

Moody's magical eye swivelled in its socket to stare at his left arm. “Aye,” Mad-Eye muttered, “I'll just bet ye are.” But he didn't say any more about it. He threw open the kitchen door. “Twin Weasleys! In here!”

Fred and George appeared in the doorway with a _pop_. “Mad-Eye.”

“Moody.”

“How can we be of assistance?”

They stepped in and the door slammed itself behind them.

“You can show Ron what ye've made.”

“Ah,” George said.

“Our magical potion.” Fred pulled a tub from his robes with a flourish.

“Concealment Charm in a tub. Lasts up to ten days.”

“Impervious to water.”

“And revealing spells.”

“And stays put, even if you're unconscious.”

“Not sure about if you're dead, though.”

Mad-Eye snatched the tub from the twins and thrust it into Ron's hands. “Cover any identifying marks. Tattoos, scars, blemishes, beauty marks.” His eye swivelled back to Ron's arm, and he had no doubt what Moody really meant. “Requirement for all Order members. Might save your life if you get caught. If you need to remove it, the spell is ' _detego_ ', but it'll only work if you're the one to cast it. I'll be back tonight to discuss the mission.”

With that, he limped out of the kitchen into the front garden, and apparated away with a sharp _crack_.

Ron dipped his finger experimentally into the pink goo, and swept a line of it down his right arm. His skin seemed to shimmer briefly, then all of his freckles disappeared, leaving nothing but pale, white skin. “Wicked.”

*~*~*~*

The plan to retrieve Harry was mental.

It involved thirteen of them, plus Harry, flying from Little Whinging to Devon. They would be completely exposed for over an hour.

Oh, and seven of them would be Harry.

Ron immediately volunteered to be one of the seven Harrys. If he could stand between Harry and the Death Eaters in any way at all, he would do it. His mum was significantly less pleased to hear that four of her children and her husband would all be involved, but as it was to protect Harry, she kept her disapproval silent.

_(p.40, Deathly Hallows)_

Harry looked astonished but pleased when all thirteen of them turned up and, as usual, the weight on Ron's chest lightened immediately upon seeing him. The dark tendrils of nausea creeping out from his heart did little to improve his mood, however. They were all at risk tonight, and he wasn't the least bit happy about it.

When Harry found out about the plan, he looked about as happy as Ron felt, but heedless of his protests, Moody demanded a handful of his hair to add to the potion.

To no one's surprise, the potion tasted vile, though in Ron's opinion, not nearly as disgusting as the one he'd taken in second year. Harry's potion had a spicy, tangy undertone to it that would have been almost palatable had it not been for the potion's top notes of curdled milk and aged leather. And then he began to shrink. And go blind.

“I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo,” he said, playfully, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Harry just looked uncomfortable at the prospect of everyone seeing his naked body, so Ron made an effort to conceal his – Harry's – body after that, though no one else seemed to bother. It was incredibly disconcerting to find himself trapped in the same body he'd been sexually attracted to for over a year, and Ron was grateful for the distraction of a potentially deadly Order mission to keep his mind from wandering.

“Good,” Mad-Eye barked. “The pairs will be as follows: Mundungus, you will be travelling with me by broom. Arthur and Fred. The other one – Fred, George, whoever you are – with Remus. Miss Delacour – ”

“I'm taking Fleur on a thestral. She's not fond of brooms,” Bill interrupted, and Fleur-Harry gazed up at him with a look of such love and devotion that Ron felt simultaneously violently sick and irrationally jealous. Despite the fact that it was really Fleur, Ron didn't want Harry's face looking at anyone like that. _Except you_ , his mind whispered, and Ron shut that little voice down viciously. It wasn't an option.

“Miss Granger and Kingsley, again, by thestral,” Mad-Eye continued, and Hermione looked pleased by this. Putting her on a broomstick would be a dead giveaway; she couldn't fly to save her life, and Harry was the best Seeker in a century.

“Which leaves you and me, Ron!” Tonks said, her hair a bright pink to match her personality. How she could be so positive in such a dire situation, Ron had no idea. Though, he thought, eyeing Remus, perhaps getting some on the regular did that to people.

When they got outside, Harry crammed himself into the sidecar of Sirius' old flying motorbike. Ron couldn't help but grin at the image it made; it was both amusing and unreasonably adorable to see him sitting there like a child. More importantly, though, he looked _safe_ tucked up in that sidecar, and despite that appearance being fallacy, Ron allowed it to reassure him.

“Hold tight now, Ron,” Tonks called, and Ron shot Lupin a guilty look before grabbing his wife's waist. Lupin just grinned and rolled his eyes, clearly not feeling threatened at all by Ron-Harry having his hands anywhere on the new Mrs Lupin.

They took off on Moody's command, and it took less than two minutes for all hell to break loose. Within seconds of the Death Eaters appearing, curses and hexes were flying through the sky, lighting it up with streaks of red and green. And then Tonks took a sharp dive to the left and they lost sight of the rest of the Order.

They had just shaken off the last of the three Death Eaters following them – Bellatrix, it seemed, was determined to kill her niece – when a wall of nausea hit Ron with the strength and weight of a dragon. He slumped on the broom, the dizziness making it impossible to keep his balance, and Tonks lost control of the broom. Suddenly, they were spiralling downwards. Tonks was letting loose a mixture of spells and curse-words as they fell, but Ron was too overwhelmed by pain to process any of them. Something was wrong with Harry.

Then, abruptly, the feeling vanished. He leaned around Tonks to grab the broom and yanked it hard, stopping their rapid descent just meters from the ground.

“What the _fuck_ was that, Ron?”

“My Mark,” he muttered, so quietly she could barely hear him.

She must have done, though, because she took back control of the broom and guided it back up into the clouds where no Muggles would see them. Once they were back on their way, she turned her head to look at him.

“Mine died,” she said, conversationally, is if they hadn't almost died themselves just minutes ago.

“I'm sorry,” Ron said, for lack of anything else to say.

Tonks shrugged. “I never met them,” she continued, “so I can't really miss them, can I? I only had it a few months, then one day it hurt so badly that I passed out, and when I woke up, it was grey; it's not changed or anything since they died so it's a bit like an old tattoo. Besides, I have Remus now, so things always work out in the end.”

Ron wished he had her level of optimism.

“Have you met yours, then?”

Ron nodded, before realising she couldn't see him now that she'd turned back around to navigate. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I've met him.”

“I'm sorry,” Tonks said, her voice more serious than he'd ever heard it. “Maybe when this mess is over...?”

“Yeah,” Ron said, though he didn't really believe it, “maybe.”

They landed at Aunt Muriel's just minutes later, but they'd missed their Portkey, and Auntie Muriel insisted on pouring them tea and fixing every last bump and scrape and curse-burn before she'd even think about letting them leave. Ron and Tonks sat there anxiously, knowing that with every minute ticking by, their loved ones would be getting more and more worried about the fact that they were missing.

When they finally arrived, Harry was already there, safe, just as Ron had known he would be. Hermione was the first to hug him, and he was grateful to see that _both_ of his best friends had made it through alive. Ron pulled away from Hermione and pulled Harry into a tight hug reminiscent of his mum's bone-crushing ones. He knew from his _episode_ earlier that Harry had been in grave danger. He could have lost him. Unlike Tonks, Ron knew he wouldn't survive that kind of loss.

*~*~*~*

The days leading up to the wedding were oddly reminiscent of last summer; Mum made it her mission to keep him away from both Harry and Hermione, sending them to do jobs for the wedding in different parts of the house and having them sleep in separate rooms. Harry was suffering from awful nightmares, and keeping them apart was making it all worse for the both of them, even if his mum and Harry didn't realise that.

“I'm going to miss Hogwarts,” Harry commented during a brief moment of passing one another in the corridor one morning. “Whatever wards Du- _the school_ has up, they always seemed to ease my nightmares.”

Ron knew the 'wards' had nothing to do with it, but he didn't comment.

Hermione was weepier than usual, probably due to the deaths of both Dumbledore and Mad-Eye so close together. It was disconcerting that the two who seemed almost immortal had been the first to go, and it was taking its toll on morale. Whenever they managed to sneak away to talk or to plan where they'd be going, Hermione seemed to end up crying. Ron got very good at _Tergeo_ -ing handkerchiefs and offering her a hug. Harry never quite managed the same level of ease with providing physical comfort, and Ron suspected that the Dursleys were to blame. But that was something to face after the war. Not now. Not when any one of them could end up like Dumbledore or Sirius or Mad-Eye.

The only positive side to the whole summer, in Ron's opinion, was that Harry and Ginny no longer appeared to be dating, and were instead treating one another like casual acquaintances. It was a little awkward at times, but nowhere near as uncomfortable as watching them kiss or make eyes at one another over the dinner table would have been.

Harry's seventeenth birthday, the day before the wedding, was thankfully much less eventful than Ron's own seventeenth had been. Due to the sheer number of people in the house – twelve at the present time – Harry was back rooming with Ron, which meant that even though he'd had a couple of dreams, he'd not had any nightmares or woken up screaming.

It also meant that Ron was the first person to wish him a happy birthday.

Ron never asked much about the Dursleys, but he knew Harry hadn't had a single birthday present or party while he'd lived with them. He planned to make up for that every single year he could, including this one. The threat of imminent war and death hanging over them was a bit of a downer, but he wouldn't let that stop him.

Ron had, on Hermione's suggestion, gotten Harry a book.

_Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches_.

It had been within Ron's limited budget and, more importantly, exactly the kind of un-emotional, impersonal, macho thing a bloke would get another bloke for his birthday.

His mum nearly brought both of them to tears when she gave Harry his present – a watch that had belonged to her brother Fabian. It was a blatant marking of Harry as part of the family, and even though it wasn't in the way Ron privately wanted, it was enough. No matter what happened, Harry would always be a Weasley. Hermione and Bill got him incredibly practical gifts – a sneakoscope and a razor, respectively; regardless of them not being terribly exciting, Harry's eyes still lit up with every parcel. Ron reckoned you could probably wrap him up some tea towels or a pair of socks and he'd be happy, which spoke volumes about how little he'd had in his childhood. Once this war was over and he could start earning his own money, Ron would change that. He would never again get Harry just a cheap book or some Honeydukes sweets for a present. He deserved more.

*~*~*~*

_The Ministry has fallen. Scrimegour is dead. They are coming._

With those ten words, the worst year of Ron's life began.

Ron spun around from where he had been coerced into dancing with his tipsy, overemotional mother and tried to find Harry and Hermione.

Harry was impossible to spot, concealed as a Weasley as he was; there were heads of ginger hair everywhere he looked. And Hermione was no help, either, given that she'd smoothed her usual riotous curls into sleek, smooth waves.

“Hermione!” he screamed. He didn't dare shout for Harry in case it gave him away. “ _Hermione!_ ”

Around him, people were running and shoving and screaming. He tripped as he was barged out of the way by a frantic wizard, then stumbled as an elderly witch walloped him with her handbag. He'd lost sight of his mother in the chaos, and could only hope she'd found his dad. He needed to get out of here.

Then he heard Hermione's voice and he followed it blindly through the crowd, pushing aside anyone who got in his way. He grabbed hold of her hand just as he caught sight of silver masks and black robes.

Within minutes, they found themselves in a shabby Muggle café somewhere in Muggle London. Their drinks – only two, because ordering for someone under an Invisibility Cloak would fall under 'drawing attention' – hadn't even arrived when the odd-looking workmen in the next booth turned out not to be workmen at all and a wand fight ensued. Ron was beginning to think it just wasn't their night.

The only bright side was that Ron hadn't felt sick once, so despite two separate Death Eater attacks, Harry had never been in danger. He had a sinking feeling that his luck wasn't going to last.

_(p.214, Deathly Hallows)_

It lasted seven weeks which, in Ron's opinion, was a blissfully long time when one was hiding from a mass murderer and his psychopathic followers.

Unfortunately, the feeling hit him when he was in the middle of stopping rain coming from the ceiling of a Death Eater's office while infiltrating the Ministry disguised as a middle-aged man named Reginald Cattermole. Poor timing, really.

As the tendrils of nausea and dizziness crept out of his chest into his stomach and head, Ron could feel his anxiety rising. Harry, the most wanted man in Wizarding Britain, was somewhere in the Ministry with no way of contacting either him or Hermione.

He raced out of Yaxley's office – getting a rather perverse pleasure out of leaving it raining harder than ever – and into the nearest lifts, heedless of drawing attention to himself. It didn't matter now. He needed to find Harry.

The lift stopped on the next floor and two heavy-set men got in. Ron was fairly sure they were Death Eaters. He arranged his face into a neutral expression and stared blankly at the floor, heart pounding in his chest.

“– intruders in the Ministry –” One of the men muttered.

“– Umbridge – missing – broken – hole in her office door,” whispered the other.

“– apprehend – Dementors – Undesirable – Dark Lord,” the first man replied, sounding understandably worried. You-Know-Who wasn't known for his forgiveness; he had a tendency to murder indiscriminately when things went wrong.

Ron couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for the man.

Somehow, they'd been noticed. He needed to find Harry and Hermione before one of these brutes found them first.

When the lift reached the main atrium, Ron barely waited for the two men to step out before he took off at a run. Behind him, he heard one shout, “No use running, your wife's done for!” But he didn't have time to process that before he felt a body slam into his. Without warning, he was being kissed in a way reminiscent of a drowning man gasping for air. And it was not the lips of anyone he knew.

The woman was small and mousy, and likely old enough to be his mother.

She was telling him something, but he wasn't listening. Behind her stood Runcorn-Harry and Mafalda-Hermione, looking horrified.

“Harry,” he said, forgetting himself in the joy of realising Harry was both alive and apparently unharmed, “they know there are intruders inside the Ministry. Something about a hole in Umbridge's office door. I reckon we've got five minutes if that – ”

It was then that he realised they were surrounded by about a dozen terrified-looking witches and wizards. None were in Ministry robes and none looked angry, though, so that was a good sign. In fact, they were all looking towards Runcorn-Harry as if awaiting direction. Apparently, their Horcrux hunting had somehow turned into a rescue mission. And as angry as Ron wanted to be at Harry for risking his own cover – and therefore his own life, and theirs by extension – like that, he found he couldn't be. All he felt was a bit in awe and incredibly proud to have a soulmate who was both terrifyingly brave and unendingly selfless.

But just as Hermione twisted to apparate them away, something went wrong. Something went decidedly, awfully wrong, and the world went black.

A searing pain in his left arm was the first thing he was aware of. Groggily, he forced his eyes open, half-expecting to see the high, stone ceiling of the Hogwarts hospital wing. Instead, gold and green leaves swam into focus, sunlight streaming through them and stinging his eyes.

“How do you feel?” came an anxious voice on his left.

“Lousy,” he muttered, as he tried desperately to get his bearings.

He was laying on cold, hard ground. Above him were trees. He was in a forest. Why was he in a forest?

Ministry. Death Eaters. Muggle-borns.  _Harry_ .

“Where are we?”

“In the woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup,” Hermione replied. “I wanted somewhere enclosed, undercover, and this was – ”

“The first place you thought of,” came Harry's voice from somewhere near Hermione's. Relief washed over Ron in a wave. For one desperate, heart-stopping moment, he'd put passing out together with the pain in his arm and remembered his conversation with Tonks. 'Mine died', her voice said, calm as ever, in his head, and he flinched.

He felt too weak to move, to even turn his head, but he could hear Harry and Hermione talking. He was too tired to listen to most of what they were saying, but the sound of their voices cocooned him like a warm blanket, and for a little while, he felt safe.

The Horcrux changed everything.

The lack of food was the worst, to begin with. Ron, who had never known an empty stomach or gone to sleep not knowing when he would next eat, found it impossible to adjust to the irregularity and inedibility of the meals in the tent. The slowly decreasing temperatures were unpleasant, too, especially when he was alone on watch at night. His arm had not fully healed, either, and the lack of potions meant he had to wait for it to heal the Muggle way. But he had Harry in arms-reach at all times. None of them were in immediate danger. And they all curled up to sleep at night so close to one another that Ron could feel Harry's breathing as well as hear it. It was tough, but it was manageable.

Until Hermione suggested they all take turns wearing the locket.

_He'll never be yours. He doesn't even have a Mark._ He didn't. Ron knew this for a fact, because he'd asked Hermione about it while Harry was sitting watch outside.

“How much of this stuff did you pack?” he'd muttered as he'd smeared the pink Concealment Cream onto his forearm. It was something they did once a week without fail; it was one way of marking the passing of time in the tent.

“Enough,” Hermione had replied coolly, the locket glinting around her neck as she'd fumbled around with whatever was in that beaded bag of hers.

“Enough for all three of us?”

Her smirk had been almost cruel when she'd turned to face him. “Just two.”

_He prefers your sister._ He did. Despite the fact that they'd supposedly broken up over the summer, Harry seemed inordinately worried about Ginny. Whenever Ron expressed the unfairness of the fact that he had family to worry about and they did not, Harry shot him a poisonous look. “They're my family, too,” he'd argued. “Ginny is stuck in that school with _Snape_ as headmaster! Do you not think I'm worried sick?” Privately, Ron didn't think Harry knew the true meaning of 'worried sick', but he didn't voice it.

_He prefers Hermione._ Harry would talk to Hermione incessantly while Ron was on watch; he could hear the whispers and murmurs coming from the tent, only stopping when one of them fell asleep. In contrast, Harry barely spoke two words to Ron when they were alone. As time wore on and Ron struggled more and more with the exhaustion, the starvation, the Horcrux, Harry started actively avoiding him. Sitting as far away as the tent would allow. Not speaking unless spoken to. The morning that he flinched when Ron got to close, he felt his heart break.

_He'll never be yours,_ the locket whispered. _The Saviour of the Wizarding World. The Chosen One. The Great Harry Potter. How could he ever want someone as poor and ugly and pathetic as you?_

That was the day he snapped.

_(p.249, Deathly Hallows)_

“What d'you reckon, Ron?”

It was the first time Harry had directly addressed him in five days.

“Oh, remembered me, have you?”

“What?” Harry asked, looking for all the world as if he were genuinely confused by his comment. Godric, but he could be a brilliant actor when he wanted to be. He'd _acted_ like he and Hermione hadn't been seeing each other in sixth year. He'd _acted_ like he and Ginny had broken up over the summer. And, all these years, he'd _acted_ like they were best mates. But really, Ron had been nothing more than a convenient in to a new family; now that he had Ginny, he had no use for him. He'd probably keep Hermione; she was useful to have on the side in case things didn't work out with Ginny. But Ron was old news. He'd outlived his usefulness, now. Harry would never tell him so, of course. Not to his face. It might ruin things with Ginny or his parents. But this was a war. Ron could die horribly, and Harry could _act_ like he was mourning the loss of his best mate for even more tragic hero points. Merlin, it was disgusting how well he'd played him. How well he'd played them all.

“You two carry on,” he spat. “Don't let me ruin your fun.”

Harry and Hermione shared a look, probably mocking him.

“What's the problem?” Harry asked in that innocent, faux-caring tone of his. Ron couldn't believe he used to fall for it.

“Problem?” he scoffed, incredulously. “There's no _problem_. Not according to you, anyway.”

Harry rolled his eyes, and it was a move he'd clearly copied from Hermione. How had Ron failed to notice how close they were before now? “Well, you've obviously got a problem. Spit it out, will you?”

Ron stood up from the bed and advanced towards Harry. The little flicker of fear in his bloodshot eyes gave Ron a prickle of dark satisfaction. At least he still had the power to make Harry feel _something_.

“All right, I'll spit it out. Don't expect me to skip up and down the tent because there's some other damn thing we've got to find,” he hissed, as if he actually gave a damn about the poxy Sword of Gryffindor. “Just add it to the list of stuff you _don't know_.”

Hermione's eyes shot to his left arm, and he levelled her with a glare. That was top of the list of things Harry was apparently blissfully unaware of, and it would remain so for the rest of Ron's miserable existence.

“I don't know?” Harry repeated, as oblivious to Ron and Hermione's silent conversation as he was to most things of importance. “ _I_ don't know? I thought _you_ knew what you signed up for!”

“Yeah,” he muttered, bitterly, “I thought I did, too.”

“So what part of it isn't living up to your expectations?”

“I THOUGHT YOU KNEW WHAT YOU WERE DOING!” Ron exploded, rage boiling like lava through his veins.

“Well, sorry to let you down,” Harry said, flatly, and Ron's rage burned even brighter for it. _Why wasn't he fighting back, dammit!_ “I've been straight – ” Ron snorted despite himself. At least one damn thing he'd said was the truth. “– with you from the start. I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in case you haven't noticed, we've found one Horcrux.”

“Yeah, and we're about as close to getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them!” _As close as I am to having you_.

“Take the locket off, Ron!” Hermione screeched. “Please take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this if you hadn't been wearing it all day!”

“Yeah, he would,” Harry snapped, glaring hatefully at Ron.

Just to spite him, Ron grinned. “You're damn right, I would.”

It had the effect he wanted. Harry finally fought back.

“SO WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?”

Ron stepped closer, getting right into Harry's personal space, and leaned down so that their noses were almost touching. Harry tensed so tightly that Ron could hear his teeth grinding, but he didn't flinch. “Search me,” Ron hissed.

“Go home then,” Harry retorted, spit flying from his mouth to hit Ron in the face. His eyes were no longer flat and lifeless. They were bright, burning, _alive_.

“Maybe I will. It's alright for you two, isn't it, with your parents safely out of the way – ”

“MY PARENTS ARE DEAD!”

“And mine could be going the same way!”

“THEN GO!” Harry roared, and his willingness to let him just walk away was Ron's undoing. He reached for his wand before he was even fully conscious of the action.

“ _Protego!_ ”

Hermione's shield expanded between them, forcing them back several steps.

“Leave the Horcrux,” Harry said, and his voice was flat again. It was as if he'd only come alive in Ron's proximity, and in a bitter, twisted way, Ron was pleased by that. He yanked the chain from around his neck and threw it across the tent.

He turned to Hermione. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, without looking at him. Without lowering the _Protego_. Of course, best not leave Precious Potter unprotected.

“Are you staying or what?” He knew the answer.

“I – ” Dear Godric, she almost managed to look conflicted for a moment. Perhaps Harry had been giving her acting lessons all those hours alone in the tent. “Yes. Yes, I'm staying. We said we'd go with Harry. We said we'd help.”

“I get it,” he said, and he did. “You choose _him_.”

“Ron, no – ”

But he was already striding from the tent. He stormed across the soaking leaves to the edge of the protective enchantments and apparated to the first place that came to mind.

A really stupid place, to be honest.

The field they'd camped in for the Quidditch World Cup three years ago.

Within minutes, he was caught by Snatchers but they were about as bright as mountain trolls and it didn't take him long to overpower one and escape. Feeling sick to his stomach, he spun on the spot and apparated back to Harry and Hermione.

They weren't there.

They had gone.

This time, when he apparated, he went somewhere he knew he'd be safe.

Shell Cottage.

He landed on the beach, up to his ankles in water, in the pouring rain. The sharp, sea air whipped at his cheeks and gulls screamed overhead. This was the edge of the wards. The house was completely invisible; all he could see was empty coastline and desolate sand dunes. He jabbed his wand against where he thought the wards were, hoping Bill would notice and come out to investigate. Ron let the rain mingle with his tears as he sobbed. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have abandoned his best friends when they were in so much danger? How would he find them again? What if he never did? What if Death Eaters found them first?

Ron collapsed onto the soaking wet sand, not caring that waves were rushing up to soak him, sticking his clothes to his skin and freezing him to the bone. What did a bit of hypothermia matter if he lost them, anyway?

“Ron? Ees that – oh! Beel! Beel!”

Ron blinked. His body felt numb, heavy. Like it didn't belong to him.

Then he was being moved. Lifted. Carried. He felt a vague tingle as they passed through the wards. Bill must have found him. He tried to say something, but his lips wouldn't move.

It got brighter and warmer, and Ron realised they must be inside.

He was being placed on something soft, and his wet clothes were being peeled from his skin. He was dried with a warm towel, then held close to a warm body. He hoped it was Bill and not Fleur.

Slowly, he became aware of a conversation.

“Where ees 'arry? And 'ermione?”

“I don't know.”

“But what eef they are 'urt?”

“Fleur,  _ calmez-vous, mon amour _ . When he is awake, I will ask him.”

_ “Non _ , William,  _ je ne vais pas calmer! Et š'ils sont morts?  _ What about 'ees Mark?”

“Concealed, just like everyone else's.”

“ _ Pourquoi les quitterait-il? Comment pouvait-il quitter son amour? Comment 'Arri pouvait-il le laisser partir? _ ” Fleur was hissing, and Ron wished he knew even rudimentary French. As it was, all he picked up on was Harry's name.

“ _ Nous ne savons pas ce qui s'est passé _ ,” Bill murmured back, unphased by his wife's apparent ire. If he'd had the energy to do anything at all, he would have smiled. They really were perfect for one another.

Slowly, Ron forced his eyes open the tiniest crack. All he could see was a swath of dark blue fabric.

“Look! 'e ees awake! Ask 'im!”

The body beneath him moved, and the fabric in his eyeline disappeared to be replaced by a pale, freckled arm. “Ron? Are you awake?”

He managed to make a soft grunt of assent.

“We need to know if Harry and Hermione are safe.”

He grunted again. They were. He would know if Harry was in danger.

“Satisfied?” Bill asked Fleur, and she huffed in annoyance.

“ _ Pas du tout. Mais vous ferez ce que vous voudrez. _ ”

Ron heard her storm out of the room, slamming the door shut behind her. Surprisingly, Bill just chuckled as he shifted Ron away from his body and laid him down in a warm bed. “Imagine you've not slept in one of these for a while,” he said. “Get a good night's sleep and we'll talk in the morning. Don't worry if you can't hear anything; I'm going to put up a silencing charm. It's always best to when she's like this.”

The tone with which his older brother said it made him cringe.  _ Oh, Merlin, no. _ But with the warm bed and dark room, even that terrifying thought wasn't enough to stop him from slipping into a deep, comfortable sleep.

**~ END OF PART ONE ~**

> **FRENCH TRANSLATIONS** (disclaimer: I'm not a French-speaker so please let me know if you spot any mistakes)
> 
> “Fleur,  _ calmez-vous, mon amour _ .” - Fleur, calm down, my love.
> 
> “ _Non_ , William,  _ je ne vais pas calmer! Et š'ils sont morts? _ ” - No, William, I will not calm down! And if they are dead?
> 
> “ _ Pourquoi les quitterait-il? Comment pouvait-il quitter son amour? Comment 'Arri pouvait-il le laisser partir? _ ” -  Why would he leave them? How could he leave his love? How could Harry let him go?
> 
> “ _Nous ne savons pas ce qui s'est passé._ ” - We don't know what happened.
> 
> “ _ Pas du tout. Mais vous ferez ce que vous voudrez. _ ” -  Not at all. But you will do what you want.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm honestly struggling with Ron's POV of this book. All the way along, I've been writing the current chapter while also adding scenes and ideas for future chapters as they came to me. Until after I posted chapter six and actually sat down to write chapter 7, this whole year was blank. I had nothing at all. But as I'm halfway through and already at over 5000 words, I've decided to post it in two parts - one, so it's not stupidly long, and two, so you don't have to wait as long.


	8. Ronald Weasley and the Worst Year (Part Two)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, guys! The end of the canon books - it's just my imagination from here on out, so updates may take a bit longer as I figure it all out!

**SEVENTH YEAR**

**DECEMBER 1997**

Sunlight was streaming into Ron's eyes when he slowly woke the next morning. He wasn't sore. He wasn't cold. He wasn't tired. His hands groped at soft sheets and an even softer pillow. Where –

Cold dread washed over him. Harry. The fight. Snatchers. Bill.

He was in Shell Cottage, probably hundreds of miles from Harry and Hermione, with no way of finding them again.

A sharp rap on the door startled him, and within seconds, he was pointing his wand at the intruder.

“Don't you point zat wand at me, Ronald!” his sister-in-law snapped as she entered the room carrying a tray full of potions and – oh, Merlin – _food_. “You are lucky I do not take mine to you for your behaviour! 'Ow _dare_ you abandon 'Arry!”

A flicker of anger stirred in him at being spoken to like a child, but all the fight was gone from him, now. Instead, his eyes burned with unshed tears. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled, feeling too ashamed to even look Fleur in the eye.

“I 'ope you are! But eet ees not me you must apologize to!”

She slammed the tray down onto a small, white desk and roughly yanked his bedsheets aside to bare his left arm. “You were _scindé_ , _non_? Splinched?”

Ron nodded, hardly daring to breathe in case it further angered the Veela.

“And eet was long ago? Or _non_?”

“A couple of months, I think.”

“But you 'ave not 'ealed it?” She sounded more concerned than angry now, and was touching his damaged skin with surprising tenderness. Ron hadn't felt a kind touch in months, and was feeling starved for it. Her soft hands were soothing in a way that made Ron ache for his mum, who would always pull him into a warm hug no matter how old he got, for Hermione, who used to stroke his hair while he lay on the common room sofa, and for Harry... Harry, who was so touch-starved himself, who tensed and flinched but still returned physical affection when it was given. Hindsight made Ron wish he'd been more physically affectionate with Harry; perhaps it would have helped. Instead, he'd been self-conscious and allowed his own doubts to affect how they interacted; he'd selfishly put himself first. And now he'd done the most supremely selfish thing: he'd abandoned them.

“No healing potions on the run, and Hermione's good, but she's not a Healer,” he choked out through his tight throat. They would never forgive him for this.

Fleur sniffed disapprovingly. “Eet ees awful zat you are in 'iding! Children should be safe! Not 'unted by a madman!”

Ron couldn't help but agree with her.

She dipped her fingers into a pale, runny potion and spread it liberally over his shoulder and bicep. “I do not affect you, now,” she noted, softly, as she worked. Ron froze, slowly taking in the implications of her comment.

At the wedding, he had still been susceptible to her Veela thrall. Now, despite being alone, naked, and touched by her, he was still entirely immune. True, he wanted to curl up in her arms and bawl like a baby, but that was nothing to do with Fleur the Veela, and everything to do with Fleur being surprisingly maternal towards him.

Harry had no Mark, and yet, somehow, Ron had begun to bond with him. It shouldn't even be possible.

“He doesn't know. He doesn't have a Mark.”

Fleur looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

“I haven't told Harry. And he does not have a Mark of his own, yet.”

“Zat is _impossible_. Veela thrall would affect you 'ad you not Matched.”

“I promise you,” Ron said, weakly, “we haven't.” _We never will. He will never want me._ “Please, I don't want to talk about it.”

“Fine,” she snapped, abruptly removing her hand and snatching up the tray. “Do what you please. I shall not 'elp. You brother will be 'ome at five. 'E can 'elp you.”

She slammed the door so hard that the window rattled in its frame.

For the rest of the afternoon, Ron was left alone with the knowledge that, by some terrible accident, he had started the process of bonding himself to Harry. The process was, as evidenced by Harry's lack of a Mark, entirely one-sided. And entirely irreversible. Unless one of them died – _which is likely_ , his brain pessimistically supplied – he would be tied to Harry forever. If by some miracle they both survived this war, Harry would be free to fall in love and marry Ginny or Hermione or anyone else he so chose and have lots and lots of little Potters. Ron would never be able to do any of those things. Not with anyone but Harry.

After four days at Shell Cottage, his splinching wound had fully healed. Fleur still refused to speak to him, but she cooked his meals and provided his potions without complaint.

Bill had quietly questioned him on what had happened between the three of them, and it was clear that he disapproved of Ron's behaviour, but he had let the topic go.

Ron had not let it go. Without Fleur's sleeping potions, he slept poorly, dreaming of Harry's death over and over; it was always somehow his fault. Every night, he woke up screaming and sobbing and unable to breathe.

He knew that the only way to stop the nightmares was to find Harry and Hermione, but he didn't even know where to start. Bill himself had taught Hermione how to set her wards, and she was clever enough and powerful enough that he could be standing right beside her and never know.

Once his wounds had healed, he spent every day apparating to various rural locations all over Great Britain. Beaches, forests, moors, mountains, valleys, dales... anywhere he could think of. Every night, he poured over maps, crossing off places he'd tried already and marking where he would go next. He never found them.

The weight of being away from Harry sat heavily on his chest, making it hard to breathe, but Ron was grateful for it. It meant Harry was still alive. Every day that he did not feel the terrible creeping of nausea and dizziness was a day he thanked Godric and Merlin that Harry was still safe.

On Christmas Eve, Ron did not thank them.

Bill had just returned from dinner at the Burrow when Ron felt the first, dark tendrils curling around his heart. He flinched and reached up to rub at his chest. His Mark was still covered, but he instinctively looked at where it should be. Something was wrong.

“I haven't said a word to Mum ab – ” Bill froze mid-sentence. “ _Fleur!_ ”

The Veela came hurrying down the stairs, patting her wet hair dry with a towel. “ _ Oui? Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?  _ Are you okay?”

“It's Ron. Something's wrong with Harry.”

Ron opened his mouth to blow off their concerns – really, it was barely a twinge at the moment,  _ and it's not like you can do anything to help them _ , he reminded himself bitterly – but Fleur cut him off with a glare.

“Zis! Zis is what 'appens when people abandon the ones they should protect! I was not zere for Bill when 'e was attacked by zat monster! I am lucky zat 'e survived and zat I was given a second chance! You should 'ave learned from my mistakes!”

Ron felt sick to his stomach. Merlin. So that was why Fleur was so angry with him. Again, he opened his mouth to reply, but Fleur was not finished. Her hair was sparking angrily, and his heart clenched when it reminded him of Hermione.

“I was not zere. You know why? We 'ad  _ une dispute _ about 'is mother! And so I left, and I did not answer when 'e tried to contact me. But do you know who told me about 'is  _ attaque _ ? 'Is mother! Per'aps she was 'oping I would not want 'im any more. But she told me. Zere will be no one to tell you, Ronald.”

Tears leaked from his eyes as the tendrils curled themselves around his lungs. “I know,” he whispered, anger spiking in him when his voice broke. Harry was the one in danger, and here he was, weak, useless, crying on the floor of his brother's house. “I KNOW!” he screamed, feeling his heart break as the nausea and dizziness spiked suddenly, sending him to his knees. It should be him in danger. Not Harry. Harry should be tucked up safely in this little cottage, eating three square meals a day and getting excited for Christmas. Godric, Ron loved him at Christmas, the way his green eyes would shine with child-like glee and his smile would light up his whole face. He'd love the food Fleur cooked; he always ate with such careful enthusiasm, savouring everything on his plate and never leaving anything uneaten. That was probably another hang-up caused by his Muggle relatives, Ron realised, but it was one he could easily rectify. As soon as this war was over, Harry would learn that food would  _ never _ run out or be withheld from him. If Ron had to cook him three meals a day himself, he would. A sob tore itself out of his throat as he felt himself heave. Every inch of him was screaming to act, to go, to protect, and there was nothing he could do.

At some point, he must have lost consciousness, because he slowly came to in his bed, his head pounding and spinning painfully. The nausea and dizziness were gone, and that heavy weight was back. Harry was safe.

It was pitch black outside and the house was silent, but Ron knew he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, so he cast a silencing charm over the room and laid out his map.

Perhaps, he realised, if Harry had been in danger, there would be some news of an attack, an escape, of  _ something _ . He ran downstairs to find Bill's radio, and set it up on his desk. As he planned the next places to search, he listened intently for anything that might give away their location.

“Ron.”

He spun around, wand in hand, but there was no one there.

“Ron – wand – same again...” The voice was quiet, muffled, but he'd know it anywhere.  _ Hermione. _ Where the – Suddenly, the Deluminator he'd been carrying in his pocket grew unbearably hot, and he yanked it out before it could burn him. As soon as he was holding it, it cooled. Out of curiosity, he clicked it. The light in his room went out.

_ I don't know what else I was expecting it to –  _ He froze. Right outside his window was a floating ball of light. It dipped and twirled almost playfully. 'Follow me', it seemed to be saying. 'Follow me back to them'.

Clearly, he'd either cracked or was having delusions, but he couldn't ignore the impulse. Not when it might lead him to Harry.

_ Bill and Fleur, Thank you for everything. I think I've found them. Love, Ron _

He threw what was left of his potions as well as a good helping of food into his rucksack and raced out into the garden. The little ball of light was there, waiting for him. He followed it to the back of Bill's shed. Then, it changed direction suddenly, flying towards him. It flew into his chest with an odd, warm tingle, filling him with a sense of determination. Suddenly, he felt he knew  _ exactly _ where to find them. He ran to the edge of the wards and disapparated.

He landed on a cold, snow-covered hill.

They were here. He could feel the weight on his chest lighten slightly, and something in the air felt familiar – Hermione's magic, probably, from all the protective wards she cast. He'd never find them under all those enchantments, but if he could just find the edge of the wards... The sky was starting to turn pink along the horizon, affording Ron just enough light to see where he was going. He walked for hours, softly calling their names, trying to find any sign of them or the wards, but he found nothing. Eventually, he gave up and curled up in his sleeping bag under a tree. Night fell, and he knew they had left.

He pulled out the Deluminator and clicked it again, his hands shaking.  _ Please, please, let this work a second time _ .

This time, he apparated into a forest. Too weak and tired to keep searching – he hadn't eaten any of the food, yet, because he wanted Harry and Hermione to have some first – he sat down on a log to wait for sunrise.

_ (p.302. Deathly Hallows) _

He had drifted off awkwardly against the log when a light woke him. His first, foggy thought was the Deluminator, but that was tucked safely in his pocket. He blinked to clear the sleep from his eyes; in front of him was a Patronus. A deer.  _ Harry _ .

Nausea began to creep from his chest, and he scrambled to his feet, hurrying after the doe, but it disappeared like mist into the night.

Then, from his left, came a  _ crack, _ and the nausea spiralled higher, churning in his stomach. Wand in hand, heart pounding, he moved slowly towards the sound. It could be an animal. It could be Harry or Hermione. It could be an enemy. If it was an enemy, he needed to attack them before they could find or hurt either of his friends. He did not know where they were, exactly, but he knew they were here. Last time, he had been helpless. This time, he was not.

He crept through the forest until he found a lake in a clearing, lit by moonlight. There were footsteps in the snow, and the ice on the lake was cracked. Someone had been here. Then he noticed the pile of clothes on the ground.  _ Harry _ .

He threw aside his rucksack and sleeping bag and raced to the edge of the lake just in time to see Harry thrashing, trapped under the ice. He didn't even hesitate. He dove in. The cold water burned like fire. He saw immediately what Harry had dived for, and grabbed the sword, tossing it up onto the ice as he used both arms to drag Harry out of the water. The Horcrux was trying to kill him. Harry collapsed, coughing and retching, on the bank of the lake. Ron wanted to do the same, but forced himself to remain upright.

He aimed his wand at the Horcrux and snapped the chain, yanking it from Harry's neck, then stumbled back to the ice to retrieve the sword.

“Are you  _ mental _ ?” he coughed, and the shock of hearing his voice must have gotten through to Harry, because he staggered to his feet. He was skeletal. Even his boxers hung pitifully from his sharp hips, dripping icy water down his painfully thin thighs.

“Why the hell didn't you take this off before you dived?” he demanded, holding up the Horcrux. Harry stood in front of him, his tiny frame racked with shivers, and said nothing. Slowly, he turned his back to Ron and began to put his clothes on without casting so much as a drying charm.

Once he was dressed, he turned to face him. “It was  _ you _ ?” he asked, weakly.

“Well, yeah?” Who else could have pulled Harry from the lake? There was no one else here.

“You cast that doe?”

“What? No, of course not! I thought it was you doing it!” His Patronus was a terrier, not a deer. Or it had been, back in fifth year. Now, he was not so sure.

Harry looked slightly offended. “My Patronus is a  _ stag _ ,” he snapped. “How come you're here?”

Ron flinched. He'd known Harry would be angry. He'd been awful and nasty and selfish. Perhaps unforgivably so. But somehow, in between the fear of saving his life and the thrill of seeing him again, Ron had almost forgotten that. Clearly, Harry hadn't. “Well, I've – you know – I've come back. If –” his voice broke painfully. “You know, if you still want me,” he forced out.

“I don't understand,” Harry said, eventually. “How did you get here? How did you find us?”

“Long story,” Ron muttered, still not sure how exactly to explain how it had happened. “Do you reckon this is the real one?” He held up the sword that had been dangling uselessly in his hands.

Harry narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but allowed the change in subject. “One way to find out, isn't there?”

He offered Harry the sword, but he shook his head. “No, you should do it. You got the sword out of the pool.”

He knew Harry was right, but he felt an uncomfortable tightening in his chest at the prospect of having to face the Horcrux again. He nodded tersely to Harry, who took it from his hands. “I'm going to open it,” he warned, “and you stab it. Straight away, okay?”

“No! No, don't open it!” he shouted, feeling panic rising in his chest. He felt weak and pathetic. After all, Harry had managed to destroy one at just twelve years old. Here he was, nearly eighteen, and he couldn't destroy one even when he knew it would protect his soulmate. The Horcrux had been right. He was unworthy. “It affects me worse than it affected you,” he admitted, quietly. “I'm not making excuses. I can't do it.”

Harry levelled him with a look that made him feel simultaneously both invincible and weak. “You can do it,” he said, gently. “You can. You've got the sword. I know it's supposed to be you who uses it. Please, Ron.”

The sound of Harry begging him cracked through his fear. “Tell me when,” he said, lifting the sword and steeling himself. He only hoped that whatever the locket said, Harry would not be able to hear it.

“One, two, three...” And then Harry hissed something in Parseltongue and the locket clicked open. For a moment, there was deathly silence. And then it began to speak.

“ _ I have seen your heart, and it is mine. I have seen your dreams, Ronald Weasley, and I have seen your fears. All you desire is possible, but all you dread is also possible... _ ” Ron was frozen, unable to move. He could hear Harry screaming at him, but for the first time since that fateful train ride over six years ago, his voice had no hold over Ron, no affect on him at all.

“ _ Least loved, always, by the mother who craved a daughter _ ,” the locket hissed, and Ron knew with terrible certainty that it was starting at the bottom and working its way up to his worst fears. “ _ Least loved, now, by the one who prefers your friend. Second-best always. Eternally overshadowed. _ ” Then the eye inside the locket began to distort, expanding out of the locket until it formed two heads. Harry and Hermione. Ron's heartbeat tripped painfully.

“ _ Why return? _ ” sneered Horcrux-Harry. “ _ We were better without you, happier without you, glad of your absence. We laughed at your stupidity, your cowardice! _ ”

Horcrux-Harry was pale and cold. Objectively beautiful, but empty. Lacking the life and joy and innocence that Ron had fallen so completely in love with. The words stung to hear, but he knew it was not  _ his _ Harry saying them.

“ _ Who could look at you? Who would ever look at you? What have you ever done, compared with the Chosen One? What are you, compared with the Boy Who Lived? You are nothing _ ,” Horcrux-Hermione jeered, “ _ You are nothing to him. _ ”

“Do it, Ron!” Harry screamed and, finally, his voice reached the part of Ron that would  _ always _ respond to its other half. He raised the sword above his head and closed his eyes, blocking out the horrible image of Horcux-Harry and Horcrux-Hermione kissing. And then he brought the sword down as hard as he could.

He fell to his knees, shaking, gasping in desperate breaths of frozen air.

The Horcrux was gone.

Harry's soft hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Ron felt warmth like he hadn't known in months flood through his body. The next breath came out as a sob.

“After you left,” Harry said softly, and Ron tensed, “she cried for a week. There were loads of nights where we never even spoke to each other.” Ron felt guilty for that. For upsetting Hermione, and for driving a wedge between them.

“She's like my sister,” Harry said, and as horrible as Ron felt for leaving, he couldn't help the relief and joy that flooded through him in that moment. He let out a choked sob and grabbed at his left arm. “I love her like a sister and I reckon she feels the same way about me. It's always been like that. I thought you knew.”

Harry retreated to grab his rucksack, and Ron missed the warmth of his hand immediately. He took several deep breaths to compose himself, then hauled himself up to his feet. He was sure that his face would be puffy and tear stained, but he forced himself to meet Harry's eyes. “I'm sorry,” he said, and he meant it with every fibre of his being. “I'm sorry I left.”  _ Merlin _ , but it was hard to apologise. Normally, they just went back to being best mates without ever mentioning their fights; he never had to talk things out or apologised, even when he was a giant arse. That would change, Ron decided. He would have to start discussing things, owning up to his failures, and apologising for his mistakes. Harry deserved that much.

Harry shrugged. “You've sort of made up for it tonight,” he said. And then they were hugging and,  _ Merlin _ , Ron could stay like this forever. Harry's arms curled around his waist, and he tucked Harry's head into his chest.  _ I missed you. I'm sorry. I love you. _

“And now,” Harry said, awkwardly, as he pulled away, “all we have to do is find the tent.” His cheeks were pink and his expression was somewhat uneasy and just like that, Ron felt guilty again. He  _ knew _ Harry didn't feel the same way. It had been a friendly, thank-Godric-you're-back, thanks-for-saving-my-life kind of hug, and he'd made it weird by needing him the way he did. He had to pull himself together before he ruined everything.

Hermione was  _ not _ as pleased to see him as Harry had been, nor was she as quick to forgive, but he knew he deserved far, far worse than any of them had dished out, so he accepted it with as much dignity as he could muster. He rehashed his month without them and explained in as much detail as he could manage the odd behaviour of the Deluminator. Harry looked curious, but Hermione was fascinated; he could tell she was itching to access a library, and his lips twitched up in an affectionate smile. Some things would never change.

*~*~*~*

Hermione eventually warmed back up to him and, aside from the uncomfortably close incident at the Lovegoods', they had a very boring, very safe three months in the tent. They hadn't achieved much of anything – though, if you asked Harry, they had uncovered yet another mystery in the Deathly Hallows – but Ron found that, this time around, he didn't mind that much.

On a cool, dry evening in late March, it all went to hell when Harry broke the taboo.

_(p.372, Deathly Hallows)_

“Well, Draco,” Lucius snapped at his son, “is it? Is it Harry Potter?”

Ron's stomach rolled painfully and the dizziness was bringing him to the brink of unconsciousness. Malfoy had been at school with them for years. Had gone up against Harry in Quidditch for years. Had been their enemy for years. There was no way he wouldn't recognise Harry, even with the brilliant work Hermione had done on him with a couple of well-aimed jinxes. In any other circumstance, Ron would have cheerfully murdered his best friend for raising a wand to Harry, but not this time.

Malfoy hardly even looked at Harry. “I can't be sure,” he said, dismissively, though Ron swore he heard a tremble of fear in his voice. Greyback was standing uncomfortably close to the youngest Malfoy, who looked even more delicate than usual in comparison to his grotesque, hulking frame, and Ron was sure that the expression on his face was supposed to be a leer. Greyback had the hots for Malfoy, Ron realised, and he shuddered. He hated Malfoy, but no one deserved that. Except maybe You-Know-Who himself; they deserved one another.

Lucius dragged his son closer to where Harry was restrained, a fevered gleam in his eye. “But look at him closer! Look! Come closer! If we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, all will be forgiven.”

_That_ was interesting. What had an Inner Circle Death Eater like Malfoy Senior done to fall out of favour with You-Know-Who? And to discuss such information in front of some unidentified teenagers and the likes of Greyback... He hadn't been in touch with anyone since leaving Shell Cottage at Christmas, but this was certainly not information the Order had had back then. He needed to find a way to get it to them.

“Draco, come here, look properly!”

Malfoy was now inches from Harry. Any minute now, their identities would be revealed. Ron only hoped they could come up with an escape plan before You-Know-Who arrived.

He opened his mouth and Ron's nausea spiked. This was it, Malfoy would tell his father – “I don't know.”

Ron froze. He'd lied. Malfoy had lied to his father. There was nothing in his tone or his expression that outwardly indicated deception, but he was a Pureblood, a Slytherin. Deception was second-nature to him; there was no evidence, would never be any evidence, but Ron was certain Malfoy had lied.

Mrs Malfoy watched the scene impassively, her expression as blank as her son's. Malfoy's lie, Lucius' comment about forgiveness, Mrs Malfoy's complete disinterest in the potential capture of You-Know-Who's biggest enemy and primary objective... The Malfoys were clearly no longer as loyal to Snake-Face as they'd have everyone believe. Certainly, Malfoy and his mother were not. Godric, how were they still alive if they couldn't even be subtle about it? He was a Gryffindor with all the subtlety of a mountain troll, and it had taken him two minutes to work it out.

Minutes later, Mrs Malfoy threw Hermione to the wolves without flinching, and Ron remembered that they were Slytherins. The only side they were on was their own.

And then it got worse, because Mrs Malfoy's sister turned up to the cosy, family gathering and started spreading her own brand of psycho. She, unlike the Malfoys, was quite eager to call in You-Know-Who and hand them over as quickly as possible, but Lucius stopped her. Ron was sure that Harry and Hermione were too stressed, too scared to be taking in everything that was going on around them, but Ron had an edge. He was literally programmed to protect his soulmate at any cost. Right now, there was no physical threat; his brain was working on overdrive to take in everything, process everything, analyse every last minute detail to extract as much information as possible to give him an advantage when, eventually, a physical threat did arise.

“ _I_ was about to call Him,” Lucius was saying to his sister-in-law. “Potter has been brought to _my_ house – ” So, they were in Malfoy Manor. The Burrow and Shell Cottage were within reasonable apparating distance if they could get outside of the wards. Ron was starting to think the Malfoys were being careless on purpose, unless they were so sure of their demise that they didn't think they would have a chance to use the information. “It is therefore upon _my authority_ – ”

“You lost your authority when you lost your wand!” Bellatrix screamed.

Malfoy Senior was unarmed. How convenient.

And then Bellatrix spotted the Sword and her face went grey even as she erupted into a fury. Ron had a funny feeling that the fake sword – the one his sister had tried to steal from Snape at Hogwarts – had been given to dear Bellatrix for safe keeping, and that she still had no idea the one in her possession was, indeed, a fake. She thought they'd somehow stolen it from her.

“Where did you find this sword?” she hissed at Greyback, her eyes promising him a slow and painful death that she would enjoy every second of. “Snape sent it to my vault at Gringotts.” Ron had been right, and now he knew exactly where the fake was.

Harry and Ron were sent down to the cellar, leaving Hermione to the mercy of Bellatrix and Greyback... and he lost it, just a little bit. Panic built in his chest so tightly he thought he might choke on it as he screamed her name, trying to drown out the sounds of her screams from above them. She was his best friend, his sister in all the ways that mattered. Without her, he and Harry would never survive this war. Without her, he wasn't sure Harry would _want_ to.

“Hermione!” he screamed, his voice going hoarse. Harry, who was tied to him, was saying something, talking to someone, but Ron didn't care. He couldn't let what happened to Neville's parents happen to his best friend. The thought of Hermione blank and listless and non-verbal, trapped forever in a grey-walled hospital ward, tore his heart out like nothing he had ever known. “HERMIONE!”

“Ron, please stay still,” someone said, “I can't see what I'm doing.”

“There's a Deluminator in my pocket,” he replied automatically. He was completely focussed on what was happening between Bellatrix and Hermione; he'd heard _Crucio_ used far, far too many times, but Hermione was still talking, still denying any knowledge of the Sword, decrying it as fake, and Ron thought that the sound of her voice was the sweetest thing he'd ever heard. It meant she hadn't lost her mind.

Malfoy came down to the cellar to fetch Griphook, and Ron felt his stomach plummet to the ground. The goblin would identify the Sword as the real thing, and Bellatrix would know Hermione was lying.

_Crack_.

“Harry Potter. Dobby has come to rescue you.”

Ron staggered into Shell Cottage, Hermione cradled lifeless in his arms. She was alive. She had to be alive. “FLEUR!” he screamed. “Fleur, help!”

The blonde witch came flying towards him, her face pale with terror. “What 'appened? Ronald, what 'appened?”

“Bellatrix. Bellatrix tortured her,” he said, his voice breaking at the same time as his heart. “I heard it all, Fleur. I heard it and I couldn't protect her!”

Her face paled further, but her mouth set into a grim line. “I 'ave potions. Follow me.” He carried Hermione upstairs into the room he had used in December and lay her on the bed. From the window, he could see Bill and Harry on the beach. Harry was safe; the little piece carved out of Ron's heart that now seemed permanently connected to him was tight, painful with grief, but beating steadily. He was unharmed.

Hermione, weak and lifeless on the bed before him, chest rising unevenly, was not.

*~*~*~*

_(p.426, Deathly Hallows)_

It was nearly a full month later that they were just minutes away from breaking into Gringotts, and Ron was absolutely sure that he would not escape this war without an extensive criminal record.

Hermione-Bellatrix looked so convincing that Ron felt a bit sick, but then she shot him a smile and he relaxed a little. That was Hermione's smile, no matter who's face it was on. Under Harry's curious gaze, she set to work transfiguring him until he was unrecognisable. Wavy, brown hair. A beard. No freckles.

Hermione-Bellatrix tilted her head in a way that was completely incongruous with her dangerous appearance. “How does he look, Harry?”

Harry's eyes swept over him and Ron couldn't help but shiver slightly under the attention. “Well,” Harry said, slowly, “he's not my type, but he'll do.”

Ron only barely stopped his mouth from falling open, and Hermione's expression of shocked amusement looked entirely out of place on the face of Bellatrix Lestrange. Despite the warning tendrils of nausea growing in his chest, he grinned the minute Harry turned his back. It would never happen, but Godric, sometimes it was nice to pretend. Hermione grinned back. ' _I bet you're his type_ ,' she mouthed to him, winking playfully, and Ron couldn't hold back the chuckle that escaped him.

Seconds later, they apparated into to the Leaky Cauldron.

Watching Harry perform the _Imperius_ Curse with such ease left Ron feeling conflicted. It was Dark, illegal magic, but seeing the evidence of his soulmate's power sent tingles down his spine that settled hotly in his stomach. Harry, who Ron had come to see as somewhat delicate, in need of his protection, was nothing short of awe-inspiring in how he held himself now. Every time their legs or hands brushed, Harry's magic reached out to caress him, to tease his very soul with a sensation that was as dark and warm as velvet, and as powerful and dangerous as lightning, chasing away the nausea and dizziness that had taken up residence. And he didn't even know he was doing it. _Follow me_ , his magic seemed to say, _and I will keep you safe_. Ron believed it. He had no choice but to believe it. He would follow Harry anywhere gladly.

*~*~*~*

_(p.510, Deathly Hallows)_

Hogwarts was in chaos. You-Know-Who was at the gates with his Death Eaters and Dark creatures. Teachers and members of the Order and DA had split off to defend the school from various angles, and the evacuation of the kids – and Slytherins – was well underway. Now all they had to do was –

“Hang on a moment,” he said sharply, “we've forgotten someone!”

Hermione froze. “Who?”

“The house-elves,” he said, the image of Harry bent over Dobby's grave causing a physical ache in his chest. “They'll all be down in the kitchens, won't they?”

Hermione's face lit up and she launched herself towards him, the basilisk fangs in her arms clattering to the floor. Before he realised what was happening, they were kissing. Her mouth was firm and hot against his, her body small and soft, and he lifted her off the floor easily. Despite their differences and the distance that had grown between them, she was his best friend. In another life, perhaps they could have been more. Certainly, if he was not fated to someone else, he could have been content, maybe even happy, with her. But they were both Marked for other people; people who were far better suited than a swotty bookworm and a bull-headed red-head.

“OI!” his soulmate shouted. “There's a war going on here.”

He pulled back from Hermione gently, and her soft smile told him that she'd come to the same conclusion. She was another Dean. Spur of the moment. Nice. Enjoyable, even. But it would never happen again.

“I know, mate,” he replied, softly stressing the final word in the vain hope that Harry would somehow understand. “So it's now or never, isn't it?”

Harry just rolled his eyes, and Ron's heart sank.

“Never mind that! What about the Horcruxes?”

_(p.519, Deathly Hallows)_

When they escaped the Room of Requirement, they were another Horcrux down, but Hogwarts' defences had fallen. Death Eaters were within the castle. The sound of hexes and screams seemed to reverberate off the walls, creating a never-ending cacophony of chaos.

Ron spun around at the sound of a familiar voice to see two heads of red hair battling faceless men in black robes. At first, Ron thought it was the twins. But then one of the hoods slipped to reveal the supposed Minister of Magic.

“Hello, Minister,” one of the red-heads said, aiming a nasty-looking jinx at the man. It was Percy. “Did I mention I'm resigning?”

Fred and Ron turned to him in astonishment. Ron had never once heard Percy make a joke.

“You're joking, Perce,” Fred spluttered. “I haven't heard you do that since – ”

The air exploded. Ron felt his feet leave the ground and there was a horrible moment of weightlessness before his body slammed painfully into solid rock. Beside him, he heard a grunt of pain. Debris rained down around him, and he threw up a weak shield to protect himself from the worst of it. As the dust settled, he heard a heartbreaking wail and he moved towards it blindly. No, no, no...

He scrabbled over lumps of stone and wood from the castle walls, desperate to get to the source of the sound. Desperately hoping that it didn't mean what he thought.

There, under a large slab of stone wall, staring unseeing at the ceiling, with the ghost of a laugh still etched upon his face, was Percy.

_(p.539, Deathly Hallows)_

The castle was unnaturally still when they returned from the Shrieking Shack, a sharp contrast to the scenes of violence they had passed through on their outward journey.

Harry was clutching the vial of Snape's memories like a lifeline.

“Where is everyone?” Hermione whispered, her voice carrying easily in the eerie quiet that surrounded them.

Ron led the way to the Great Hall, unable to reply. He'd seen four people die tonight. Greyback, Snape, Lavender, _Percy_. Every single one had been horrific, sickening, terrifying to behold. Back in Malfoy Manor, Ron had thought he could kill Greyback himself without remorse; he had been wrong. Greyback _had_ deserved to die, but to watch it happen in front of him was far different from an abstract belief in the fairness of retribution.

They rounded the corner, and his steps faltered. The dead were laid out, displayed on the floor of the Great Hall for all to see, and his stomach rebelled against him. He forced his feet to carry him forwards until he collapsed between Fleur and Fred, a ragged sob ripping itself out of his numb chest as he kneeled beside the body of his brother. _Percy_. _Percy is dead_. A solid arm wrapped his shoulder, and he leaned into it, suddenly feeling too weak to hold himself upright. Percy had come back to them. Had tried to do the right thing. And now he was gone.

Ron turned his face into the chest of the brother beside him and cried.

It could have been minutes, or hours, or even days later when Ron suddenly felt the most terrifying thing in the world. Nausea and dizziness clamped around him like a vice. He grabbed his left arm.

“ _PLEASE, NO!_ ”

His left arm burned. His vision blurred sharply until it went black. He could feel desperate hands grabbing him, moving him. Could feel tears and sweat pouring down his cheeks. Could hear the screams of his mum and Hermione and Fleur.

_Please, Merlin, anything but this. Take me instead. Please, take me. Not him._

He could feel himself fading. Almost like falling asleep but far, far more terrifying. It was like being pulled gently underwater by a Kelpie, knowing you'd never see daylight again. Tonks had survived the loss of her Mark, but Ron had always known he wouldn't survive the loss of his.

He just wished he'd had the chance to say good-bye.

_(p.596, Deathly Hallows)_

Was death meant to be this painful? This loud?

Unthinking, he reached out with one hand... and touched a warm, solid body. His eyes flew open. His mother's red, tear-streaked face was above him, her hand stroking his cheek and carding through his hair.

“Oh, my love,” she whispered brokenly, and Ron felt his heart shatter.

“HARRY POTTER IS DEAD!”

Ron flinched at the high, cold voice. Beside him, Hermione let out a gut-wrenching sob. He wanted to reach out to her, to tell her that You-Know-Who was wrong. Harry wasn't dead. Harry _couldn't_ be dead. Because the little part of his own heart that belonged to Harry was still beating strongly in time with his own.

Harry was alive.

He hauled himself to his feet, ignoring the pain that warned him of broken bones and curse wounds. Harry was alive. On unsteady legs, he made his way determinedly to the Entrance Hall. Bill caught up to him, wrapping an arm around his waist to help him move.

“What are you doing?” he hissed.

Ron set his jaw against the pain. “Facing that snake-faced bastard once and for all.”

He'd meant for it to be quiet, for Bill's ears only, but his voice carried across the silent Hall.

“For Harry!” came a cry from behind him, and the whole Hall cheered in agreement.

By the time Ron reached the front steps of Hogwarts, he had a veritable army behind him. It was time to end this.

When Harry was placed on the ground at Voldemort's feet, rage like nothing he had felt before seared through his veins.

“HE BEAT YOU!” he roared, breaking the fearful silence. In that instant, everyone's voices joined his, and the noise seemed to shake the very foundations of the ancient castle. Voldemort believed that he had won the battle, but Ron knew that they would win the war.

Ron tried to keep track of Harry in the chaos that ensued after Neville – brilliant, brave, wonderful Neville – beheaded the snake, but he lost him when some idiot in a mask shot a nasty curse towards him. Ron dodged it just in time to see Grawp crush the Death Eater under one great, bare foot.

“HE'S ALIVE!”

_Harry_.

Ron followed the shouts and whispers, dodging the spells flying around him and shoving people aside until he made it back to the Great Hall.

It was silent. Still. In an empty clearing, Voldemort and Harry were circling one another.

As he watched, the familiar, comforting velvet-warmth of his soulmate's magic reached out to him. _Trust me_ , it whispered, _I will keep us safe._

And then Harry raised his wand.

“ _Expelliarmus_!”

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

The noise reverberated through the Hall like a canon-blast, and golden flames erupted between them. Through the flames, Ron saw Voldemort's wand fly from his hand, spinning through the air towards Harry, and he knew it was over.

Harry's hand snatched the wand out of the air at the same moment as Voldemort's body hit the stone floor with an odd, dull thud.

Ron felt none of the sickness or revulsion he had felt at the other deaths he'd witnessed. He felt only relief.

It was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm sorry, I broke canon. I couldn't kill Fred.  
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
> Please leave kudos and comments!


	9. Ronald Weasley and the Aftermath

**MAY 3RD, 1998**

**ONE DAY AFTER THE BATTLE**

Ron crept into the Great Hall concealed under Harry's invisibility cloak. Bill and Fleur were huddled together on the floor between Percy and Remus. Andromeda, clutching a sleeping newborn, sat in silent vigil beside Tonks. His parents hadn't moved from Percy's side in over twenty-four hours. He and his brothers were sitting with them in shifts; one would sit where Bill was now, and the other four would return to the Burrow, where Ginny and Luna were co-ordinating the rest, healing, and feeding of anyone in need of it.

When Ron had left with Harry and Hermione last summer, his baby sister had still been a little girl. Now, she was a woman, formidable and battle-hardened in a way no seventeen year old should be. Nonetheless, Ron was proud of who she had become. She would be good for Harry, he thought, shoving aside the pain that it brought, he needed someone strong to support him. Especially now.

Malfoy and his mother were hidden in a corner, clinging to one another. Ron noticed Mrs Malfoy's eyes return repeatedly to her estranged sister and the great-nephew she had never met. In the past, Ron would have felt only rage and contempt for the blonde witch, but now that was tinged with pity. Perhaps less of her husband's influence and more of Andromeda's would be good for her.

Ron's eyes swept over the couples and families gathered around the Hall, searching for the reason he was here, hidden under the cloak, rather than at home with his brothers and Ginny. Finally, he spotted two familiar heads of hair pressed together under one of the stained glass windows. He started towards them, but paused when he realised why he hadn't recognised them immediately. There was a third head of dark hair close beside them. Ron tried to work out who it was, but his back was turned as he leaned close to Ron's two best friends. A familiar, sickening wave of jealousy swept over him, and he grit his teeth against it as he made his way to them.

He knew that if he startled them, he would find himself on the business end of a wand, so he crouched down beside Harry and softly whispered his name. Instinctively, he reached out to grab Ron's arm, finding it with somewhat unnerving accuracy.

“Guys,” Harry murmured, “Ron's here. Shall we move somewhere less...” He gestured to the crowded Hall. Hermione and the man Ron didn't recognise nodded.

With a quick glance around to check that no one was looking, Ron pulled Harry under the cloak with him.

“Common room,” Ron whispered to Hermione, before wrapping his arm around Harry and leading him out of the Great Hall towards the staircases. The last forty-eight hours had been hell, and Ron revelled in the warmth of Harry tucked into his side, in the peace that it brought him in the midst of so much pain.

When the four of them arrived in front of the Fat Lady, Ron pulled off the cloak. “Resistance,” he said, and the portrait swung open. Stepping into the common room felt a bit like coming home, especially with Harry and Hermione beside him, and some of their friends already gathered around the fire. Ron felt Harry relax slightly beside him, but Hermione was tense.

“Ron,” she hissed, “you didn't warn me there were already people here. Theo won't exactly be welcome.”

 _Theo?_ Ron turned to look at the tall, dark-haired man, and finally, recognition dawned. Slytherin. Transfiguration genius. Wallflower. Death Eater father. Theodore Nott.

Seamus, Dean, Lee, and Neville were all curled up in chairs, talking softly to one another, and didn't seem to notice the fourth person entering the room alongside the 'Golden Trio', as the Prophet had already dubbed them.

“Why _is_ he here, Mione?”

Hermione drew herself up in a way that reminded him eerily of McGonagall. “Because,” she said, primly, “Theo took a curse for me, and killed the Death Eater that cast it.”

Harry reached out to hold Hermione's hand, then turned to address the room as a whole. “Theo is welcome here, and I will duel anyone who says otherwise.” His voice was soft, but with a clear edge of steel that said he meant every word.

The four men looked up, nodded at Theo in greeting, and returned to their hushed conversations.

Harry turned his gaze back to Hermione and a still-uncomfortable Theo. “I think... I think I just want to go up to my old bed and sleep.”

Ron took in Harry's drawn face and dark circles; they hadn't slept properly in nearly a year, and Harry likely hadn't slept at all for days. “I'll come with you, mate.”

Harry nodded gratefully.

Hermione turned to Theo, clearly torn, but the stoic man simply nodded. “You need rest,” he said, quietly. He raised his eyes to meet Ron's. “Could I perhaps bother you for a bed? I would like to rest but, at present, fear I would not be welcome in my own dorm.”

Ron realised with a jolt that Theo's dorm would have been shared with Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy; the Death Eater he killed could have been a father or friend to any of them. He shrugged and nodded. “Sure, take your pick,” he said as he followed the familiar path up to the dorms.

Harry sank down onto his old bed as Hermione closed the door behind them. Ron looked around the room; none of the beds were made. Merlin, no one had slept here in months. Why had he assumed it would be made up as if they'd only left this morning?

“I'm so s – ”

“Daisy.”

With a _crack_ , a small house elf with big ears and a filthy rag for clothes appeared in front of Theo.

“Young Master Theo,” the elf whispered, almost fearfully, and Hermione looked incensed. Whether he had saved her life or not, Hermione would kill him where he stood if he abused house-elves. Seemingly oblivious to her rage, Theo dropped down onto his knees in front of the trembling elf.

“Daisy, Master Nott is dead. You answer only to me. You are safe.”

The tiny elf immediately burst into tears. “Oh! Master Theo! We elves be feeling it but we nots be believesing it, sir! We's be hidesing in the Manor, Master Theo!”

Theo reached out to gently console the sobbing elf and, behind him, Hermione looked to be on the edge of tears herself.

“You did well, Daisy. All of you did the right thing. You may remain at the Manor, or you may come to Hogwarts to assist the elves here until I am able to return to the Manor.”

Daisy nodded fiercely, her giant ears bobbing with each movement.

“Thank you, Daisy. Could you please fetch bed linens for all five of these beds?”

Daisy nodded again and disappeared.

Theo remained on the floor, unmoving, and Hermione slowly approached him, reaching out to rest her hand on his shoulder. He seemed to take comfort from the touch, and Ron remembered he and Harry in a similar position after destroying the locket. His eyes flickered suspiciously between the two, but Hermione was steadfastly avoiding his gaze. They stayed like that until Daisy reappeared with five other elves, levitating bed sheets and barking orders. The beds were made in seconds, and on top of four of them lay a neatly folded pair of pyjamas.

Ron had been home to shower and change, and Hermione and Theo both appeared to have washed the dirt and grime of the battle from their bodies.

Harry, though, was curled atop his freshly-made bed in the clothes he'd worn for days, skin coated in dirt and dried blood, and debris from the battle caught in his unruly hair.

Ron gently lifted him to his feet. “C'mon, mate. Shower first, then bed.” He grabbed their pyjamas – black for Harry, pale blue for himself – and guided Harry into the bathroom.

Harry was silent and listless – through shock or exhaustion, Ron didn't know – so he carefully helped him to peel off his filthy clothes, healing minor injuries with his wand as he went. He set Harry's mended wand on the sink, and left his clothes on the floor. As far as Ron was concerned, they should be burned. They'd seen far too much to ever be clean again.

Harry still hadn't moved aside from at Ron's direction, so Ron gave up the idea of him washing himself as a lost cause. He stripped off his own clothes and stepped into the cubicle with Harry. Between six years in the dorms and a year on the run, Ron thought nothing of being naked in front of Harry. Nothing, aside from checking the glamour on his forearm. His skin was bare, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

He turned on the shower and helped Harry wash on autopilot, his thoughts occupied with warring feelings of joy and despair. How could they have both won _and_ lost? The defeat of Voldemort was everything they'd been fighting towards for years but, in the aftermath, the cost of that victory was staggering. He had lost a brother, his parents a son. Harry had lost his last link to his father, and little Teddy Lupin had lost his parents.

As Ron rinsed Harry's hair for the fourth time, he allowed himself to cry.

He was so wrapped up in his own grief that he never noticed the ink-black word newly etched onto Harry's right forearm.

Eventually, Harry was clean, and Ron wrapped towels around them both, brushed their teeth, dressed them both in pyjamas. Harry seemed mostly oblivious to the whole thing, and Ron moved as slowly and gently as he could as he readied them for bed.

When they returned to the dormitory, curtains were drawn around three of the beds. Ron helped Harry into his, but instead of retreating to his own, he lay down beside him, pulled the covers over them both, and waited to hear Harry's soft, even breaths before succumbing to the tempting lure of Morpheus himself.

*~*~*~*

He didn't know how long they had slept, but when he awoke, it was dark.

Harry, still half-asleep beside him, nuzzled further into Ron's chest and groaned, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist so he couldn't escape. His hand had slipped inside Ron's pyjama top, and the heat of it on his left hip felt like a brand.

Ron held himself statue-still, hardly daring to breathe. Any minute now, Harry would wake up and realise who he was cuddled up to. It was torture to be held this way, knowing it was a lie, but having it end would be worse. He wanted to savour whatever time he had left to be with Harry like this. Once this was all over and Harry patched things up with Ginny, there would never be any need for Harry to crawl into _his_ bed for comfort. They would never again share a dorm or a bedroom. Never again sit up late at night just talking. Harry would have someone else to do all of those things, and Ron would be alone.

There were muffled sounds coming from the common room, then the distinct sound of something shattering against a wall. Ron wrenched himself out of Harry's arms and grabbed his wand, racing to the top of the stairs. _Death Eaters!_

Heart pounding, he stepped into the common room, his wand drawn. Surrounded by the twins, Lee, and Angelina, Dean and Seamus were facing off against each other, wands raised, faces red. He let out the breath he'd been holding; not Death Eaters, just his old dorm mates. He looked at George quizzically, but his brother grinned and winked. ' _Just watch_ ,' he mouthed, clearly enjoying the show.

“It's not my fault ya fucked off without telling me where ya were going!” Seamus roared, his Irish accent back stronger than ever in his anger. “Ya shoulda told me!”

“They came to my house, Seamus! They came to my house and tried to kill me!”

“Ya shoulda come to mine for Christmas, then. Like I asked ya!”

Ron watched, bewildered. Seamus was turning an odd shade of purple, and Dean was angrier than Ron had ever seen him. Though, come to think of it, he didn't think he'd _ever_ seen Dean angry before. Clearly, something had happened that he had missed entirely.

“And left my mother to die? Not a fucking chance! Your mother was safe. If you cared so much, you'd have come to my house for Christmas. But it's all just words, isn't it? It always is with you!”

“Fuck you, Dean!” Seamus roared, dropping his wand and advancing angrily towards Dean. Ron took a step forwards, ready to grab him if he threw a punch, but Lee stopped him.

Dean didn't back down one inch. He stood his ground defiantly, staring Seamus down until they were so close their noses were almost touching. “Fuck me yourself, you coward.”

Seamus moved suddenly and Ron lurched forward, sure that a fist was about to hit Dean's face, but Seamus grabbed his hair instead, yanking it roughly until Dean's head was tilted backwards. “Mebbe I will.” Seamus' face lowered towards Dean's and their lips crashed together; an attack, more than a kiss, full of frustration and anger as lips and tongues and teeth battled for dominance.

Seamus backed Dean up against a wall, still kissing him aggressively, and slammed his hips forwards. Dean moaned. Ron couldn't look away.

Angelina coughed loudly. “Take it elsewhere, boys!” she said, sounding highly amused by the whole thing. George, on the other hand, was watching them almost hungrily. Ron had always known about Charlie, but he'd never suspected George. He and Fred were always too busy flirting with the ladies like some kind of ridiculous double-act. Though, now he thought back, George _had_ taken Lee to the Yule Ball. He'd thought they'd just gone as friends, but...

The portrait slammed shut behind Dean and Seamus, and Ron could feel how hot his cheeks had gotten. There was no way he could return to bed in this state. Especially not when he was sharing with Harry, who would no doubt attach himself to Ron like the giant squid once again. Waking up cuddling your best mate was one thing, but waking up cuddling your best mate who had a throbbing erection was quite another, and Ron wasn't that stupid or that brave.

Instead of heading back to bed, he headed for a cold shower.

*~*~*~*

Three days after the Battle, all of the Weasleys returned home for Percy's funeral. He would be laid to rest in a small meadow beside the orchard, it had been decided, because Mum wanted him at home.

The funeral itself was a small, sombre affair. Red hair covered with black hats for the men and veils for the women. Robes of heavy black velvet, worn buttoned up to their chins and down to their ankles even in the heat of the sun. Too many of their friends and families had died in the battle, had their own funerals to arrange and attend to; when Ron's older brother was lowered into the ground, only eleven people stood to witness it.

The sea of red hair was broken by only four people: Harry and Hermione, who stood either side of Ron, Fleur, and Audrey. Audrey Weasley. Muggle-born. Soft, brown hair. Kind, blue eyes. Pale, drawn, shaking in Fleur's arms. Widowed at twenty-one. And four months pregnant. Percy hadn't even known when he'd left that evening to join his family at Hogwarts that night.

Harry's hand was clenched tightly in his, and Ron was grateful he had allowed it without question. The only thing keeping him upright was the solid warmth of his soulmate's hand in his. Tears streamed silently down his face as he placed one shaking handful of dirt into the grave.

“Bye, Perce,” he whispered, voice breaking painfully over his brother's name. “I'm so sorry.”

He shattered at the sound of his mum's heartbroken wail. He fell to his knees beside the grave, shoulders shaking, chest aching. _I never told him I loved him. Not once. Godric forgive me. I did love you, Perce, even when you were a prat_ , he thought, fervently, hoping that, somehow, wherever he was, Percy would hear him. _I love you, Perce. I promise I'll tell your kid all about you. Have fun up there._

**_PERCY IGNATIUS WEASLEY_ **

**_BELOVED SON, BROTHER, HUSBAND, AND FATHER_ **

**_It is better to have loved and lost_ **

**_than to have never loved at all._ **

**_22 AUGUST 1976 – 2 MAY 1998_ **

**JULY 1998**

**TWO MONTHS AFTER THE BATTLE**

“You're getting a what?”

“A flat. For my birthday.”

Ron stared at Harry blankly. “You're buying yourself a flat,” he repeated, “as a birthday present.”

He'd known from that first day on the train that Harry had money he couldn't even dream of, but he showed it so infrequently that the realisation of just how rich Harry was still stunned Ron at times. Most of the time, he didn't even think about it. Harry lived at the Burrow, wore hand-me-down clothes, slept on a tiny bed beside Ron's every night. But then Harry would go and do something like this – or something like putting five hundred thousand galleons in his parent's vaults and making it look like war reparations from the Ministry – and Ron would have to wrangle with the concept all over again.

Harry grinned and nodded, his green eyes sparkling in a way Ron hadn't seen since before the war. “Shame the only one I liked had three bedrooms,” he said, flippantly, eyes twinkling playfully. “I mean, I'll use one, and one can be for Teddy when he visits... but I can't just have an empty one, can I?”

Ron shrugged, trying to work out what exactly the faux-innocence in Harry's voice meant. Nothing good, he was sure. That tone normally led them both into trouble. Only the fact that he was Harry-bloody-Potter stopped them both from being arrested that time they got drunk on elf wine and ran naked down Knockturn Alley. That debacle had started with Harry's innocent grin and the question ' _how many of these do you think we can drink?_ '.

“Why not? A spare room's a great idea. You could use it as a study, or a playroom for Teddy.” He was happy for Harry, who was clearly thrilled to have bought a place of his own and to leave the Burrow, but the thought of not waking up to Harry every morning, of not eating breakfast together, of coming home from Fred and George's shop to no one but his parents and Ginny... His heard twisted painfully. He was happy for Harry, but he was devastated for himself.

Harry looked at him as if he thought Ron was a bit thick. “Ron. I want you to move in with me. I got the third room for _you_.”

His heart thudded painfully. “You want me to – ” he choked out, before his sanity returned and he realised what Harry meant. “– be your flat mate,” he finished, lamely. Harry didn't seem to notice. He grabbed his hand and tugged him towards the front door.

“Come on! It's Muggle, so we'll have to apparate there, but you're going to love it!”

Ron did love it. He loved every single inch of the Georgian town house – it had stairs, so as far as Ron was concerned, it was a house not a flat – that Harry had bought in Bath because it was _Harry's_ , and even more so because Harry wanted to share it with him. The kitchen was huge but homey. The living room windows flooded the space with light. The patio and small garden were a quiet oasis, even in the middle of the city. It was the perfect home for Harry.

At the end of the tour, Harry turned in the doorway to face him, his eyes bright and pleading. “What do you think?” he asked, and Ron could hear the tension he was trying to hide behind his excitement.

Ron frowned. “I love it,” he said, honestly. “It's perfect.”

Harry pulled out a tiny Muggle felly-tone from his pocket. “Can I call them right now?” he asked, now practically vibrating on the spot. “Can I tell them we want it?”

His frown deepened, even as Harry's use of the word 'we' tugged something deep and painful and wonderful inside him. “You didn't already buy it?”

Harry shook his head, cheeks going pink as he fixated on an old-fashioned, Muggle heating device on the wall beside them. “No,” he mumbled, “wanted you to see it first.”

 _Oh, Merlin._ Ron's heart clenched painfully as he fought the useless hope that bubbled up inside him. This was platonic. This was Harry being the wonderful, selfless, big-hearted, insecure boy he'd always been, seeking reassurance from one of the only constants in his life before making such a life-altering decision. If Hermione hadn't been in Australia with her parents and Theo, Harry would have probably asked her, too. It was _not_ what Ron wanted so desperately for it to be.

He reached out to gently rub Harry's arm, allowing himself that small weakness. “I love it. I think it's perfect for you, Harry, and Teddy will love his new room and the garden. You did such a good job picking this place.”

Harry's eyes lit up even as his cheeks darkened. “Thanks,” he muttered, and Ron smiled. He still wasn't used to praise, but Ron went out of his way to shower him with it. One day, he would start to believe it.

**SEPTEMBER 1998**

**FOUR MONTHS AFTER THE BATTLE**

Ron stood on the platform, staring at the bright red steam engine. It was the first of September, and all around him were hundreds of parents and students hauling trunks and carrying familiars and saying tearful goodbyes, but wasn't the normal, excited hustle and bustle of a new year at Hogwarts. The atmosphere was tense, solemn. Ron missed Hogwarts, but couldn't bring himself to go back, not without Harry. Harry had wanted so desperately to return, to finish his NEWTs and to pursue an apprenticeship in teaching so that he could honour both Lupin and – Godric knows why – Snape by joining the Hogwarts staff one day. But in the months between deciding to return and the start of the new school year, Harry's nightmares had been unmanageable. Sleeping draughts were useless. Dreamless sleep didn't touch them.

The only thing that had soothed him was curling up in Ron's bed, covers over his head, body pressed desperately against Ron's as he fell asleep. As long as Ron held him, he slept peacefully. Ron hadn't slept a full night for over a month before he eventually managed to talk Harry out of returning to Hogwarts. After that, he went back to sleeping in his own bed, and as much as sleeping alone left Ron feeling restless and bereft, he knew it was the right thing to do.

His mum hadn't come to see Ginny off – she hadn't left the house at all since Percy's death, not even to attend Audrey's Healer appointments – so Harry and Ron had volunteered. They would have been there, anyway, to say goodbye to Hermione.

“Harry! Ron!” He turned around to see a familiar head of brown curls, followed closely by a head of short, dark hair. Hermione, of course, had decided to return to Hogwarts to complete the seventh year that she'd missed. Theo, too, would be returning so that he could pass his NEWTs and pursue a Mastery in Transfiguration. But Ron knew his primary motivation was simply to be wherever Hermione was. When they'd come over for dinner last week, their matching Marks of 'Hogwarts' had made him smile. Fate had picked her the most perfect Match, and it was obvious that she was deliriously happy with him.

Ron grinned. “Mione!”

“Don't call me that!” she snapped, smacking his arm. Beside him, Harry chuckled, and Ron decided it was worth it.

“Ready for school?” Harry asked, quietly. He had almost stayed at home, the prospect of so many people and the reminder of what he was missing out on becoming too much for him, but Ron had known he'd regret it if he missed saying goodbye to everyone. He'd bribed Harry with the promise of Fortescue's and a night off cooking, and here they were.

Hermione pulled Harry into a tight hug, her hands grasping the back of his oversized hoodie. Ron frowned; he could swear that was one of _his_ hoodies. The thought made him unreasonably warm, so he pushed it aside to deal with later. “I'm going to miss you,” she said, softly, and Harry murmured that he would miss her, too.

She gently rubbed Harry's back, and met Ron's eyes over his shoulder. ' _Look after him_ ,' she mouthed, and he nodded. He always would, but he knew it made he feel better to say it.

Ginny reappeared with Zabini in tow, grinning like an idiot. “Hey guys!” she said, breaking the heavy mood that had settled around them. “Look who I found!”

Ginny's odd friendship with the Italian had started in Slug Club and apparently blossomed during the reconstruction of Hogwarts. Ron was sure Zabini was the reason Harry and Ginny hadn't rekindled their pre-war relationship, but no one had said anything, and Harry didn't seem the slightest bit concerned by it, if it were true.

The odd pair ribbed one another mercilessly and Ginny could kick Zabini's ass at Quidditch no matter what position she played, but they got on like a house on fire. Her fiery nature and his dry wit were well-matched, and whenever he visited the Burrow, they improved the mood of the whole house. He'd even caught his mum smiling a few times at their good-natured sniping.

Harry greeted the Italian warmly as he approached, oblivious to the sudden shift in atmosphere, but Ron was immediately aware of the tension between the two Slytherins.

Zabini and Theo greeted each other with an indifferent coolness that baffled Ron; they'd shared a dorm for seven years, but they were acting like strangers. Worse, even; they were almost acting like enemies, beneath the thin veneer of social niceties. Ginny's eyes flicked between the two men, brow furrowed. Hermione stepped closer to Theo protectively, placing a gentle hand on his arm.

She gave a warning glare to the Italian even as she smiled politely. “Good morning, Mr Zabini.”

Zabini narrowed his eyes at her, then nodded sharply. “Miss Granger,” he said, coolly. His eyes cut to Theo. “Lord Nott,” he almost spat, though his tone remained just on the right side of polite, “I didn't know you were... _free_.”

Hermione visibly bristled. “He's no more a Death Eater than I am, Zabini,” she said, icily, stepping in front of her boyfriend. Theo's impassive, shuttered expression, so different from the kind smile he normally displayed around them, made Ron feel uneasy. “But if you have a problem with my _Matched_ ,” she enunciated the word quietly but clearly, and Zabini visibly faltered. “By all means, carry on.” Her polite smile was sharp and cruel, and Ron was abruptly reminded of Narcissa Malfoy. Hermione, muggle-born though she was, would make a fine Lady Nott one day. Those Pureblood society ladies wouldn't know what hit them.

Zabini took a step back, though Ginny's arm around his waist prevented a total retreat. “I see that I have misunderstood the situation,” he said, quietly. “Congratulations on your Matching, Miss Granger, Lord Nott, and may you prosper together.”

Hermione was not pacified, but it would have been considered the height of impropriety to snub such a formal felicitation. “Thank you, Mr Zabini. May fate guide you.”

Theo nodded sharply towards his housemate, but said nothing.

Ginny grimaced. “Ah, maybe Blaise and I will go look for Neville and Luna. They must be around here somewhere.” And with that somewhat flimsy excuse, she dragged Zabini away.

Hermione turned to them apologetically, one hand still tightly gripping Theo's wrist. “I'm sorry, guys. I think Theo and I better get on the train.” Her eyes darted worriedly to her boyfriend; his expression was stoic but his eyes betrayed his pain.

Ron nodded immediately. He understood. Your Mark came first, no matter what.

He reached over slowly to take Theo's hand, shaking it once. Like Harry, Theo often flinched at unexpected physical contact. Hermione was grateful that her friends seemed to understand without needing to ask awkward questions. “Look after her,” he said, seriously, and the ghost of a smile reached Theo's lips. “Don't let her go around hexing everyone who looks at you wrong.” His lips twitched this time, obviously thinking of the time Aurors were called to Diagon Alley after Hermione jinxed two men who'd shouted obscenities at him. Hermione had been quite indignant indeed, and the Aurors hadn't dared arrest her.

He turned to pull Hermione into a tight hug. “Make sure you visit. And write to us,” he said, grinning. “You know I won't write back, but Harry will.”

Harry joined the hug, and Ron curled his arms around both of them, letting the warmth of their bodies soak into him. Everything that mattered to him was right there; his best friend and his soulmate.

“I will,” Harry agreed, smiling, though Ron could see his eyes filling with tears. Even when Ron had left, abandoned them both, Hermione had never faltered. Harry loved them both, but Hermione was his rock. His true constant. Ron was too emotional, too unpredictable at times. He knew his own failings, and he no longer blamed anyone else for his faults. With Hermione out of reach, Ron would step up. He would be everything Harry needed. He would be better, this time.

With a final squeeze, they all let go. Ron tucked Harry into his side to shield him from some of the more obvious gawkers on the platform, and they stayed there, waving to his sister and their friends, until the train was out of sight.

**NOVEMBER 1998**

**SIX MONTHS AFTER THE BATTLE**

The fire danced merrily in the grate, and Harry was bent over an essay at his desk. Actually returning to Hogwarts had been a step too far, but McGonagall had agreed to allow him to complete up to three classes by owl. Harry floo'd to Hogwarts once a month for one-to-one practical lessons, but he was sailing through his classes with ease. Now that the distractions of awful relatives and trying not to die were gone, it was abundantly obvious just how intelligent and eager to learn he was when given the right subject matter and direction.

His eyes were bright, his teeth were gnawing on his lower lip, and his fingers were ink-stained. Ron smiled at his best mate, watching his dark curls bounce slightly as he tilted his head, trying to find the right words. He was absolutely, breath-takingly beautiful.

But he was his best mate. Nothing more. Ron closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shoving all this feelings back behind the walls he had built for them.

“Harry,” Ron called from the doorway, glad Harry hadn't noticed his temporary preoccupation, “are you nearly done? Dinner's ready.”

The comfortable domesticity was something Ron cherished, even if it meant something different to him than it did to Harry. For now, Ron was grateful to have Harry mostly to himself; Teddy, he'd quickly decided, was worth sharing with.

Harry looked up, a dazed expression on his face. Ron felt himself melt again, just a little. Whatever essay he was writing, the topic was clearly fascinating to him, and Ron couldn't wait to hear all about it over dinner. Whenever Harry had a particularly interesting piece of work, he would start squirming in his chair about two minutes after sitting down, his eyes bright with excitement, but he wouldn't speak until spoken to. One day, Ron hoped Harry would feel comfortable enough just to babble at him incessantly, without invitation.

“What time is it?” he asked, his voice a little rough from disuse, and Ron swallowed hard. Sometimes, the biggest upside to sharing this flat with Harry was not having Ginny around to point out how many showers he took a day. A lot. He took a lot of showers. It was worse than the Christmas break during sixth year and, frankly, it was getting a bit ridiculous.

“It's a little after six. I know it's early but Teddy's hungry.”

As if to illustrate the point, a plaintive cry came from the kitchen where Ron had left him in his high chair. Harry smiled at the sound and immediately set his parchment aside. “What's for dinner?” he asked as he followed Ron back into the kitchen,

Teddy squealed when he saw his godfather, his eyes changing from blue to Harry's emerald green, though he kept the freckles and Weasley-red hair. Harry swept him up into his arms and tickled his tummy. “Hi there, Teddy Bear! Don't you look adorable?”

Ron agreed, but he couldn't say anything. He was frozen in the doorway, heart in his throat. Teddy looked like a perfect mix of both him and Harry, and it was simultaneously the most beautiful and painful thing he'd ever seen. He watched Harry spin Teddy around the kitchen, laughing and squealing, and he couldn't help but picture Harry doing the same with a child of their own. Tears burning his eyes, he retreated to the bathroom to splash his face with cold water and get a grip on his emotions. He had only been living with Harry for four months, and already he was struggling. Harry's magic reached for him on a daily basis, and his Mark – which he still hid with Fred and George's Concealment Cream – seemed to ache and tingle when they were close. He could feel Harry's heart beat right alongside his own every second of every day. It was too much, and it was slowly driving him mad.

Harry looked up, concerned, when he finally dragged himself back into the kitchen. Thankfully, Teddy was back in his high chair and had changed his hair to his favourite blue, though he still had freckles and green eyes. “Where did you go?”

“Bathroom,” he replied as he busied himself with serving dinner. He carefully kept his back to Harry until he was sure he had everything fully locked away again. It would ruin everything if Harry noticed just how badly Ron was starting to be affected by him. The partial bond he'd accidentally formed last year had grown stronger with their constant proximity. Ron sometimes got flashes of strong emotion if he was close by when something happened, and the connection to Harry had become an almost physical thing, a chain connecting them that pulled tight the further apart they were. The problem was that only Ron could feel it.

They sat down to eat – Teddy with his own little chunks of potato and vegetables – and Harry almost immediately began to wriggle adorably on his chair.

Ron smiled fondly. “Yes, Harry? Is there something you'd like to share?” His voice was too soft, too affectionate, but Harry didn't seem to notice.

He grinned, his whole face lighting up, and he nodded enthusiastically. “My Magical Creatures project is so cool!” he almost shouted. He spent the next twenty minutes regaling Ron with endless information about, of all things, same-sex mating in magical creatures. Ron smiled and nodded and 'hmm'd when appropriate, but mostly he just sat back and enjoyed the pure joy on Harry's face. He'd always thought DADA was Harry's favourite subject – and it had been, up until this year – but while DADA was still his _strongest_ subject, it was becoming clear that he now preferred Care of Magical Creatures. Ron thought it was probably because it didn't remind him of the war the way DADA did; everything was still a little too close and a little too raw for Harry to truly _enjoy_ learning jinxes and hexes and counter-curses, even in a classroom environment. Perhaps especially in a classroom environment, when the classroom used to be Lupin's once upon a time.

“I didn't even know that there were creatures like – ” Harry cut himself off sharply, looking uncomfortable.

Ron almost choked on his potato.

“Like what, Harry?” he asked, heart pounding in his chest.

Harry suddenly blushed and stared avidly at his half-full plate, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. Ron gripped his fork harder. Of all the bad habits for Harry to have, did he have to pick that one?

“Nothing,” Harry muttered.

“Harry,” Ron said, softly, “tell me, please.” He'd learned that if he left Harry alone, he'd bottle it up. If he pushed too hard, Harry's walls would go up. Gentle coaxing was the only way to get him to talk. It was how he'd figured out what was causing Harry's nightmares, and how he'd learned how badly Harry wanted to get his NEWTs. Harry's decision not to return to Hogwarts and McGonagall's offer of owl-correspondance courses had both been a result of Ron getting the truth out of Harry, and he was flourishing in a way he never would have otherwise.

Harry ignored Ron, instead turning to wipe Teddy's hands and face clean. “You're such a messy baby,” he cooed, and Teddy grinned toothily.

“Put him to bed, please, Harry. Then we need to talk.”

Harry flinched, and Ron immediately regretted his words.

He reached out to soothe him, but Harry moved away, scooping Teddy out of his high chair and carrying him out of the kitchen. Ron let his forehead fall onto the wooden table with a resounding _thud_. Just as he'd been priding himself on how well he'd gotten Harry to open up, he'd put his foot in his mouth, again.

An hour later, the house was quiet, but Harry had not returned. Ron padded silently down the corridor to Teddy's bedroom and peered inside. Teddy was fast asleep in his crib, and Harry was sitting in the rocking chair, shoulders tense, head hidden in his hands.

“Harry,” Ron whispered, and Harry tensed further. “Please.”

Stiffly, Harry rose from the chair and pushed past Ron in the doorway. Ron followed him into the living room, where he watched Harry pour himself a glass of whisky. Harry's hands were trembling as he clenched the glass with white knuckles. Ron didn't like it when Harry drank like this, but Harry'd said it made him feel closer to Sirius. He'd never commented on it again after that.

Ron sank down onto the dark, leather sofa by the fire and waited for Harry to join him, but instead Harry perched on the edge of the plush armchair by the window – his favourite reading chair – which was as far away from Ron as possible without leaving the room.

Ron didn't dare put his foot in his mouth again, so he sat silently, waiting for Harry to speak.

Harry downed several gulps of alcohol and stared out of the window into the street below. It was dark and cold, but a few Muggles hurried to and fro, wrapped up in coats and scarves, carrying bags of early Christmas shopping and groceries.

“I've been talking to Charlie,” he said, eventually. Ron knew that. Charlie was a brilliant resource for Harry's Magical Creatures coursework, but somehow he doubted that was where this conversation was going. “Did you know Draco's there?”

Ron didn't know whether to be more shocked by the use of Malfoy's first name or the fact that, apparently, Malfoy was at a dragon sanctuary in Romania.

“The Ministry ordered him to complete five thousand hours of community service, but nowhere in Britain would have him,” Harry continued, quietly. He was twisting his fingers together and tracing patterns on the rug with his socked feet. “I'd mentioned it to Charlie in one of my letters, I think, and apparently Charlie contacted the Ministry. The dragon sanctuary always needs extra hands, and Draco's pretty good at potions, so he's there brewing for them and working in the hospital.”

Ron hadn't known about any of that, but then, why would he? Neither he nor Charlie had ever been much good at keeping in touch. He didn't quite know how to respond, or where Harry was going with this, but it didn't matter because Harry seemed happy to continue his monologue.

“It occurs in about seven percent of dragons, did you know that? Seven percent are gay.” Ah, so that's where this was going. Ron felt a heavy weight settle into his chest. He still hadn't told Harry about his sexuality. At first, he'd been trying to hide it, but then the war had happened and it hadn't seemed important. Now, he'd been hiding it so long that he didn't quite know how to stop hiding it. “That's more than Muggles, apparently,” Harry continued, oblivious to Ron's discomfort, “but less than magical people. Only, I never knew that. I only knew about Katie and Alicia, in fourth year, because no one told me and I was too busy fighting Voldemort to notice.”

Harry suddenly turned to stare at Ron accusingly. “I went into Wheezes the other day and caught George snogging Oliver Wood. Did you know about that?”

Ron's mouth dropped open. Yes, he'd known – suspected, really – that George wasn't straight but he had _not_ known about Oliver Wood. Thought that would explain why George had suddenly started turning up late to the shop and taking longer lunch breaks. Ron had just assumed he'd been working overtime in the lab, developing new products. “No,” he spluttered, and Harry seemed to believe him.

“Charlie told you that he was, though. Back in fourth year.”

Ron nodded.

“I never knew.”

Ron shrugged uncomfortably. “Wasn't for me to tell, though, was it?”

Harry's teeth worried his already-sore bottom lip. “I guess not,” he conceded. “Just would have been nice to know – ” He cut himself off again, taking several swallows of his whisky. “It would have been nice to know,” he said again, this time his voice full of that famous Gryffindor courage – the kind of courage that was 90% bravado and 10% recklessness, “someone like me.”

_Fuck._

“You're _gay_?” Ron gasped, before he could stop himself, and Harry immediately stiffened. Oh, Merlin, no, he had not meant it like that. Harry stood up abruptly, shoulders tense, eyes flashing dangerously, but Ron moved to block his exit. There was a good chance that Harry would hit him, but he was willing to take the risk.

“Harry, no,” he said, softly. “Look at me.”

Red-rimmed, glassy eyes defiantly met his own and he felt his heart twist painfully in his chest. He couldn't help himself; he reached out and pulled Harry into his arms. He waited patiently when Harry tensed, then tugged him closer once he relaxed, tucking Harry's head under his chin. He pressed his cheek into Harry's messy curls and breathed in deeply, letting Harry's scent and magic surround him completely.

“You don't mind?” he whispered, his voice weak and unsure.

Ron rubbed his back and held him tightly. It had hurt, knowing that the bond he had with Harry was unrequited, but he'd reassured himself with the reasoning that Harry was straight. It wasn't that Harry didn't like Ron, it was just that he liked women. But Harry didn't like women. He liked men. He just didn't like _Ron_. “No, Harry,” he said, hoping his voice wouldn't break. “How could I?”

Harry tilted his head to look up at him, frowning. “What do you mean?”

Ron plastered a grin onto his face, determined not to let any of his emotions show because they would only push Harry away. “I'm gay, too,” he said, lightly, as if he didn't have a care in the world. As if he hadn't been carrying the secret for years. As if his heart wasn't currently breaking faster than Harry's velvet-soft magic could pull it back together.

“Oh,” Harry said, quietly, and for a moment, Ron could swear he saw a flicker of his own sadness reflected in Harry's eyes. But then Harry smiled brightly and extricated himself from Ron's arms. “I guess I was worried for nothing, then,” he said. “I can't believe I worried about telling you for weeks!” He laughed, but it sounded wrong.

“Don't ever worry about telling me anything, Harry,” he murmured, and Harry's jaw tensed. Ron half-moved as if to pull Harry back to him, but Harry flinched at the movement and backed up several steps towards his desk.

“Yeah,” he replied, flatly. “I won't.” He turned his back on Ron, grabbing the essay he'd been working on from the desk, and retreated to his room.

Ron poured himself some whisky and spent the night staring into the dying fire, wondering where he'd gone wrong.


	10. Ronald Weasley and the Happily Ever After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, folks.

**DECEMBER 25, 1998**

**EIGHT MONTHS AFTER THE BATTLE**

Even with a year of war behind them, Christmas could never be a sombre affair at the Burrow. Not with nineteen of them packed into the newly-renovated Burrow.

His mum still cried every time she glanced at the lone parcel under the tree; she'd knitted and wrapped Percy a jumper, just like she had every year since his birth. Later, his mum would go with Audrey and little baby Percy to take it to his grave, but for now it lay under the tree. A visual reminder of what they had lost this year. But her tears dried quicker, now, with two little ones to fuss over and a pregnant Fleur sitting in a chair by the fire. She adored being Grandma Molly, and she loved cooking for an army. “Full house,” she said, with a smile, as she served up Christmas dinner, “full hearts.”

And the house certainly was full, Ron thought, as he looked around. Harry was tucked into his side on the end of the wooden bench; he hadn't strayed from Ron's side all day, except to settle his godson down for a nap earlier in the afternoon. He'd been uncharacteristically quiet, and Ron was already thinking of excuses to duck out early. This day was taking its toll on Harry just as much as it was on the rest of them; maybe more so, as he seemed to blame himself. In the early hours of the morning, a shaken Harry had crawled into Ron's bed after a nightmare and tearfully confessed that it was all his fault that families were missing their loved ones this Christmas.

Ron's heart had broken as he'd pulled him under the covers and tucked him snugly into his chest. An hour later, Harry had cried himself to sleep in Ron's arms, leaving Ron feeling unsettled and unable to sleep.

Now, though, Harry was smiling despite the bags under his eyes as he fed his red-headed godson all manner of Christmas dinner delights. “Har, Har, Har,” the little boy was chanting, as 'Har' added yet more small bites of turkey and parsnips to his plate. Teddy seemed to like the food so much that Harry had made the mistake of asking Ron's mum for the recipes. Instead, she'd insisted he 'pop over some time for a cooking lesson'. Ron was sure Harry had no idea what he'd gotten himself into.

On the other side of Teddy, Andromeda was also smiling fondly at the child, though was happy to hand him over into Harry's care for the time being as it allowed her to eat her dinner in peace.

In the past six months, everyone had paired up. Ginny had brought Blaise home with her for Christmas, and the Slytherin was sitting beside her, wearing his grey Weasley jumper without complaint. They hadn't told everyone, yet, but they were Matched; Ginny had written to Harry a few weeks ago, and Harry had been unable to keep the good news to himself. Fred had brought Angelina. George had finally admitted to dating Oliver, and the Puddlemere Keeper was sitting bemusedly between the twins, clearly a little taken aback by the scale of noise and chaos that came with a Weasley Christmas. Bill and Fleur had come, of course, and brought with them the announcement of her pregnancy. She was due at the end of May, but Bill thought it would be sooner, given the werewolf and Veela genes they had between them.

But the biggest news had come from Charlie. Not only had he come home from the sanctuary for Christmas, but he had brought his soulmate with him. No one – apart from, Ron was beginning to suspect, Harry – had even known that Charlie was dating someone. They certainly hadn't known that he was dating his soulmate. And when a familiar, blond head had appeared through the Floo behind him, everyone had been stunned into silence.

It was George who had broken the tension.

“Of course, he's your soulmate,” he'd muttered. “You're a fucking dragon tamer. Who else would you Match to but someone literally named 'Dragon'.”

Mum had smacked him for the profanity, but even she'd been hiding a grin.

And that led to the nineteenth person, perched uncomfortably on the bench opposite Ron, seated between her sister and her son: Narcissa Malfoy.

The Pureblood witch looked as haughty as ever, wearing robes that cost more than most people earned in a year and eating her food with a delicacy better suited to a high-society dinner party than a raucous Weasley get-together. But her eyes were softer than Ron remembered, and she was quick to smile, especially at Teddy, whom she doted on. That was enough to endear her to Harry, so Ron followed suit. He'd never _like_ the witch, but he would certainly be polite; even he could see that she had changed. Hopefully, the change would last even after Lucius was released from Azkaban.

Later in the evening, when Hermione and Theo joined them and the various adults headed off to bed or back to their homes, Harry seemed happier and more relaxed than he had all day. Ron had planned to make excuses and take him home early, but it was clear he'd missed Hermione, and Ron wasn't going to deny him time with her.

Currently, Harry was on the sofa between them, his sock-covered feet digging into Ron's thigh, and his head on Hermione's shoulder. Theo, on her other side, looked tolerantly amused by Harry's actions, and Ron was grateful the man didn't feel threatened by their closeness.

Fred and George pulled out some bottles of Firewhisky, and Malfoy – curled up on Charlie's lap having his hair stroked like some kind of odd-looking kitten – accepted his glass with a smile and a polite 'thank you'. Ron had hated the blond-haired prat with a passion back at Hogwarts, but three Slytherins had already infiltrated the Weasley household, so what was one more, really? Besides, between what he'd seen of Malfoy that horrible day at Malfoy Manor and at in the Ministry for the trials, he'd come to the conclusion – admittedly somewhat prompted by Hermione – that Draco was probably not all that bad. Sure, he was a spoiled, snotty little kid at school, but who wouldn't be, with a father like Lord Lucius Malfoy?

Blaise smirked wickedly as he was handed his glass, and if the look that passed between him and the twins was anything to go by, they were all about two hours away from getting hauled over the coals by a furious Mother Weasley. Ron accepted his and Harry's glasses with a roll of his eyes, and settled back on the sofa to sip his drink and watch the trouble unfold.

As it turned out, the trouble had already started.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Fred crowed.

“Boys and girls,” George continued, bowing dramatically.

“The refreshments we have provided you on this fine eve –”

“– are a Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes invention.”

_Oh, Merlin._

“We present to you, for the first time ever...”

“ _Franchezza Firewhisky_!”

“The alcoholic beverage that makes you tell the truth!”

_Oh, Circe, Godric, and Merlin._

“In honour of Percy, who was a right stick-in-the-mud – ”

“– and, therefore, would want us to tell the truth –”

“– let's all raise a glass!”

All ten of them raised their glasses. “For Percy!”

Ron resigned himself to his fate, and took several deep swallows of the burning liquid. If he was going to hell, he might as well do it thoroughly.

**MARCH 1999**

**TEN MONTHS AFTER THE BATTLE**

When Ron arrived at the Burrow to rescue Harry from yet another cooking lesson, his mum met him with her hands on her hips and a dark scowl on her face. “Your father tells me you've applied for the Aurors.”

He'd been conditioned to retreat whenever he heard that tone from his mother, but this time he refused to back down. “Yes, Mum,” he said, meeting her eyes, “I have.”

He almost felt guilty when he saw her face pale. Almost.

“You'll do no such thing, young man.”

“You told me to find a purpose. I have. This is what I want to do.” He'd wasted enough time patching up Hogwarts and messing about in the twins' shop. Now, he needed to put his skills to use where they were most needed and finish what he started. The Aurors were the right place for him.

“No. Not this.” His mother's lips were pressed so tightly together they'd turned white and her eyes were red and glassy. He felt sick knowing that his decision had upset his mum, but that wouldn't change his mind.

“This is what I'm good at. What I need to do.”

“NO!” she screamed, tears now streaming unchecked down her pale cheeks. “I will not lose another son!”

Ron felt his heart crack. “Mum...” He started to move towards her, but she held out her hands and backed away. “Mum, please. You won't.”

“You're joining the Aurors, Ronald! I might as well go out back and dig your grave now!”

Ron flinched. “Mum... It's the Aurors, not a death sentence.”

His mother's eyes snapped to his, blazing with fury even as she sobbed. “Oh? And where are Tonks and Mad-Eye, then? Away on holiday?”

The front door slammed so hard that the windows shook, and through the kitchen window, Ron glanced a head of dark hair before it disappeared with a _pop_ of apparation.

He spun back to face his mother. Now he was the one angry, and she was the one shaken and quiet.

“How. Dare. You.” he hissed. “How _dare_ you say that.”

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the front door after Harry.

Three hours later, he was frantic. He'd gone to their flat, hoping Harry had just come home, but no one was there. He'd tried flooing Hermione and Theo's quarters at Hogwarts, but there'd been no answer. He'd floo'd McGonagall's office, but Harry wasn't there. He'd apparated to the twins' shop. Shell Cottage. Fred and Angelina's house. George and Oliver's flat. He'd floo'd Seamus and Dean in Ireland and Draco and Charlie in Romania. Harry was nowhere. Ron couldn't find him and panic was starting to claw it's way out of his chest and up his throat. He floo'd back to the Burrow, hoping Harry had returned, but was met by his mother tearfully apologising; Harry had not come back.

Why on earth had she made that awful comment about Moody and Tonks?

_Wait. Tonks._

Suddenly, Ron knew exactly where Harry was.

Mindless of his manners, he grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw himself into the fireplace, landing on his knees in front of a disapproving Andromeda Tonks.

“Please,” he whispered, hoping she'd understand it as the apology he didn't have time for right now. “Is Harry here?”

Her dark eyes softened, and she nodded, inclining her head towards the staircase.

Ron whispered his thanks as he scrambled to his feet and raced up the stairs.

_Please let Harry be safe. Please let him be okay._

He skidded to a halt in the doorway. Harry was sitting in a rocking chair, a sleeping Teddy on his chest, tears streaming down his face. His right sleeve was pulled up, and in neat, block letters, Ron could see the word “Harry”.

Heart thudding in his chest, Ron stepped into the room. Harry didn't move, but Ron knew he was aware of his presence. He slowly crossed the floor until he was standing right in front of him, then sank to his knees. Harry's eyes remained fixed on the photo of Remus and Tonks on the wall behind Ron's head, but his teeth sank into his bottom lip.

Without taking his eyes off of Harry, Ron reached down and unbuttoned his left sleeve. He rolled it up to his elbow, and muttered “ _detego_ ”. There, on his pale skin, was the word “Ron”. He was shaking so hard he could barely move. Slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his arm and placed it alongside Harry's.

Harry finally tore his gaze from the photo and, teeth practically tearing his bottom lip in two, he looked down at their arms.

A sob shattered the silence of the room, and it took Ron several seconds to realise that it was his own. Harry's hand was clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white, and he was trembling so hard that Teddy was shaking in his arms.

Andromeda slipped into the room and carefully lifted Teddy into her own arms.

“You boys come down when you're ready,” she said, softly. “Dinner will be on the table when you want it.”

She shut the door behind her, and Harry fell forwards, throwing himself into Ron's chest and clinging so tightly it hurt. Ron didn't care. He wanted Harry to stay like this forever. His arms wrapped around Harry's tiny frame, hands rubbing his back and burying themselves in his soft curls and pulling him closer, closer, closest.

“Don't you ever leave me, Harry James Potter,” Ron whispered, his voice rough and breaking around sobs. With anyone else, it would have been embarrassing. With Harry, he didn't care. He could be as emotional and ridiculous and flawed and irrational and unattractive and angry and _human_ as he wanted to be and it didn't matter. It would never matter to Harry. Because Harry loved him exactly as he was. Would always love him exactly as he was.

Harry sobbed brokenly into Ron's chest, his whole body shaking and his tears soaking through his shirt. “I won't,” he promised. “I won't leave.”

Ron scooped him up and pulled him onto his lap, pulling him closer, running his fingers through his messy, tangled curls.

“I'm so sorry.” As angry as he'd been at his mum's careless comment, his heart _broke_ for how badly it must have hurt Harry. Harry, who was so quiet and stoic and brave. Harry, who hid his own hurt deep, deep down. Harry, who blamed himself for their deaths. “I'm so, so sorry.”

He pressed his lips to the top of Harry's head and breathed him in. He smelled like home. He'd always smelled like home, even when Ron had been too young, too naïve, too stupid to realise it. Harry pressed his lips to Ron's collarbone and he shivered.

“Harry, love...”

He looked down in time to see Harry tilt his head away, his cheeks dark pink. Ron smiled and reached up to brush his thumb affectionately over one flaming cheek.

“Not at Andi's house, and not when we've been crying. Not like this,” he said, softly. “I'm going to do this properly, Harry. I'm going to take you on a date and hold your hand and buy you... well, not flowers, but something nice, and then I am going to walk you home and kiss you on the doorstep when we say goodnight.”

Harry looked down and blushed darker, but he was smiling and his tears had dried on his cheeks. “Ron, you don't – ”

“Harry. No. I want to do this. Properly. The way you deserve. Please.”

Harry's teeth sank into his bottom lip and _finally_ Ron gave into the urge he'd been living with since some time in fifth year. He reached up and gently pulled Harry's lip free with his thumb. “Gently, Harry James,” he murmured, as his thumb soothed the abused lip.

Harry's face flamed, and he buried it back into Ron's chest, unused to the kind of gentle attention Ron was determined he'd be showered with for the rest of his life. Ron smiled and pulled him tighter to his chest, resting his cheek on dark curls and rubbing his hand along Harry's spine. If Muggle heaven really existed, this was what it was made of.

**~*~ EPILOGUE ~*~**

**SEPTEMBER 2017**

**NINETEEN YEARS AND FOUR MONTHS AFTER THE BATTLE**

_(p.615, Deathly Hallows)_

Autumn seemed to arrive suddenly that year. The morning of the first of September was crisp and golden as an apple, and as the little family bobbed across the rumbling road towards the great, sooty station, the fumes of car exhausts and the breath of pedestrians sparkled like cobwebs in the cold air. Two large cages rattled in top of the laden trolleys the parents were pushing; the owls inside them hooted indignantly, and a red-headed girl trailed tearfully behind her cousins, clutching her uncle's arm.

“It won't be long, and you'll be going too,” Ron told her, grinning down at his youngest niece.

“A whole year,” sniffed Eliana, who got her tendency for drama from both of her parents. “I want to go _now_.”

The commuters stared curiously at the owls as the family wove its way towards the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Orion's voice drifted back over the surrounding clamour; his sons had resumed the argument they had started in the car. When Harry had insisted on passing his Muggle driving test, Ron had insisted on buying a magically-enhanced, blue Ford Anglia, which they had jokingly dubbed 'Aragog'.

“I _won't_. I _won't_ be in Slytherin!”

“James, give it a rest!”

“I only said he _might_ be,” said James, grinning at his younger brother. “There's nothing wrong with that. He _might_ be in Slyth-” But James caught his father's eye and fell silent. The four Potters – and tag-along Zabini – approached the barrier. With a slightly cocky look over his shoulder at his younger brother, James took the trolley from Harry and broke into a run. A moment later, he had vanished.

“You'll write to me, won't you?” Orion asked his parents immediately, capitalising on the momentary absence of his brother.

Harry grinned. “Every day, if you want us to.”

“Not _every_ day,” Orion said, looking vaguely horrified at the notion. “James says most people only get letters from home about once a month.”

Harry glanced indignantly at the wall James had disappeared through. “We wrote to James three times a week last year.”

“And you don't want to believe everything he tells you about Hogwarts,” Ron said. “He likes a laugh, your brother.”

Side by side, they pushed the second trolley forwards, gathering speed. As they reached the barrier, Orion tensed and closed his eyes, but no collision came. Instead, the family emerged onto platform nine and three-quarters, which was filled with wizards and witches and partially obscured by the thick, white steam that was pouring out of the scarlet Hogwarts Express.

“Where are they?” asked Orion, anxiously, stretching up onto his tiptoes to see through the crowds.

“We'll find them,” Harry reassured him, as Ron used his height advantage to locate fellow red-heads on the platform. Ron thought he heard Luna, likely with a slightly embarrassed Franklin in tow, discussing the benefits of Dirigible Plums, and was quite grateful that they hadn't been noticed.

“There, I think that's them, Ry,” Ron said as he finally caught a glimpse of three red-headed men further down the platform.

“Hi,” Orion said, sounding relieved when their family came into view.

Scorpius, who was already wearing his brand new Hogwarts robes, beamed at him. Even at eleven, his strawberry-blonde hair and freckles gave him a cherubic sweetness that made every parent melt. And, being a Malfoy, he used that to his full advantage. If the teachers thought Fred's twins were bad, they were in for a rude awakening this year. Ron was sure he and Charlie would both be receiving letters about the shenanigans their little darlings got into together.

“Parked all right then?” Theo asked, greeting them both with a handshake. “I did. Hermione didn't believe I could pass a Muggle driving test, did you?” he asked, smiling fondly at his wife. “She thought I'd have to Confund the examiner.”

“No, I didn't,” Hermione said, with as much false indignation as she could muster, “I had complete faith in you.” The little, dark-haired boy at her side caught Ron's eye and shook his head, grinning.

Rose, standing a few feet away, rolled her eyes. “Godric, mum, don't _lie_. You thought dad would never be allowed to drive. It's the only reason you agreed to him trying in the first place.”

Harry snickered, and Hermione had the decency to blush slightly. “Well,” she said, as Theo pretended to be put out by the whole situation, “I was wrong. You are a very good driver, love.”

When she turned to help Rose with her trunk, Theo winked. “I did Confund the examiner,” he admitted, shamelessly. Thankfully, he kept it to himself that he'd gotten the tip to do so from Ron.

Fred, who you still had to assume was listening in to every conversation in his search for mischief, came up behind Theo and clapped him hard on the shoulder. “We'll make a Weasley out of you, yet, Nott,” he grinned.

Theo faked a look of disgust. “It was Slytherin _cunning_ and _ambition_ , Weasley. Not your nasty Gryffindor foolishness.” He shrugged Fred's hand away and mimed brushing dirt off the shoulder of his robes with a grimace of distaste.

Draco strolled up beside his old housemate, smiling sweetly. “Oh, Nott. Are the mean Gryffindors bullying you again?”

Theo curled his lip. “Traitor,” he muttered.

Draco grinned impishly, and leaned closer to mock-whisper, “they don't bully me, y'see, cause my husband's a dragon tamer who could kill them with his bare hands.”

Ron snorted. Everyone was far more scared of Hermione than they were of Charlie, but Hermione didn't mind the occasional, good-natured ribbing on her Slytherin husband. Charlie, on the other hand, treated _his_ husband like spun silk, and expected everyone else to do the same. Draco was, in reality, far from delicate, but he was a Slytherin, so it was only to be expected that he would play it up to his full advantage.

Eliana and Hugo had begun an animated conversation about what house they'd be in when they finally went to Hogwarts – with one Gryffindor and one Slytherin parent each, everyone was curious to see where they ended up. Ron's money was on Gryffindor for Ginny's daughter, who was a little firecracker, just like her mum. But Hugo was more difficult: studious, ambitious, and dedicated, which would suit Slytherin or Ravenclaw, but also as outgoing, kind, and brave as any Hufflepuff or Gryffindor.

It didn't matter, really. Once Orion sorted Slytherin – which, despite his protests, Ron was sure he would – they'd have a full set between them. Teddy had been in Hufflepuff, like his mum, and so was Bill's youngest son, Louis. Bill's daughters Victoire and Dominique were Ravenclaws, as were Frank Longbottom, Percy II, and Rose. Fred and Angelina had produced three Gryffindors, of course, and, alongside his own son, James, all had made the house team under the watchful eye of their Uncle Oliver.

Beside him, Harry checked the old watch that had once been Fabian Prewett's.

“It's nearly eleven. You'd better get on board.”

“Don't forget to give Neville our love,” Hermione told Rose as she hugged her.

Rose huffed. “Mum, I can't give a Professor _love_. Not Neville, not Uncle Oliver, not Nanny Minnie, and not Uncle Harry. Write to them yourself if you're that bothered.”

“But you _know_ them – ”

“Outside, yeah, but at school they're Professor Longbottom, Professor Wood, Headmistress McGonagall, Professor Potter. They're _teachers_ ,” she said, glancing somewhat awkwardly at the aforementioned 'Professor Potter', who was grinning back unashamedly. “I can't waltz into the Great Hall tonight and profess your _love_ for them all!”

“If she does,” Harry said, seriously, “I'll take ten points from Ravenclaw. And five from Gryffindor, because it was your idea.”

Hermione looked affronted until she noticed the teasing twinkle in his eyes. “Sod off,” she muttered, when she thought the children couldn't hear. From Hugo's giggle, she'd miscalculated.

“See you later, dads!” James called as he passed, and Ron grabbed him for a quick hug that he tried to squirm out of.

“Geez,” he muttered, “I'll see you both later, anyway.”

“I know,” Ron said, brightly, “but as your dad, it's my job to embarrass you.” He pressed a wet, smacking kiss to his son's cheek and shouted “I'll miss you, son!” so loudly that several heads turned to look. Harry snickered beside him, but settled for patting James on the arm.

“See you at dinner, Jamie,” he called, as James hurried away from them both, cheeks still flaming red.

Ron felt a tug on his hand and looked down to see his youngest son staring up at him. “Hey, Ry. Why aren't you on the train?”

Orion was so much like his Papa that it hurt sometimes. Right now, he was shuffling his feet awkwardly and biting his lip while staring at Ron with massive, innocent green eyes. He was the carbon-copy of Harry, that very first day on the train some twenty-six years ago. “What if I'm in Slytherin?” he whispered.

Ron bent down beside his son and pretended to be tying his shoelace to avoid drawing attention. He knew Harry was listening, but he was pretending to chat to Bill about some simple warding and curse-breaking spells that he wanted add into the NEWTs curriculum, and Bill was playing along nicely as he waved his three children goodbye.

“Orion Arthur Potter-Black,” he said, seriously, “no matter what house you are chosen for, they will be lucky to have you. Gran Andromeda, Uncle Draco, Uncle Blaise, Uncle Theo... they were all Slytherins. Your Papa was almost a Slytherin. And, you know what, I think you and Scorpius will both be Slytherins. And you'll join the Quidditch team and give Gryffindor hell, and even though your Papa and I are both Gryffindors, we'll cheer for you. Because you're our son, and we will _always_ be proud of you.”

Orion seemed to steel himself and nodded seriously. “Thanks, Dad.”

Ron smiled. “Any time, Ry, now on the train with you before you miss it.”

Orion hopped up into the carriage and Harry slammed the door behind him, snagging a last-minute hug as he did so.

Students were hanging out of the windows nearest them, and a great many faces, both on the train and off, seemed to be turned towards Harry. The older students were used to him, now, but the younger ones and the parents still gawped when given a chance.

“Why are they all _staring_?” demanded Scorpius, as he and Orion turned to look back at everyone.

“Don't let it worry you,” said Fred, jovially. “It's me. I'm extremely famous.”

The children laughed. The train began to move, and Harry walked alongside it, staring avidly at his youngest son's face, which was now ablaze with excitement, all traces of worry gone. Harry kept smiling and waving, even as the train gathered speed and he returned to Ron's side to watch it fade from view.

“He'll be all right,” Ron murmured as he took his husband's hand in his own.

“I know he will,” he replied, absent-mindedly brushing his free hand over their covered Marks.

Ron smiled.

All was well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it. The final chapter.  
> There will be some one-shots being added to the series, like Harry telling Hermione about his Mark, and what happened when they all got drunk that Christmas night! I might also write little getting-together stories for some of the other couples (like Draco and Charlie).  
> But this is it for the main story.  
> Thank you so so much to everyone who has provided me with kudos and comments along the way.  
> I love you all.


End file.
